


The Weight Of The Whole World At Your Fingertips

by glyphsbowtie



Series: show me where my armour ends [1]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bad Jokes, Coffee Shops, College Student Peter, Fluff and Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Secret Identity, Smut, Superheroes, Tinder, Virgin Peter Parker, barista peter, playing fast and loose with canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-06-12 02:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 51,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15329931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glyphsbowtie/pseuds/glyphsbowtie
Summary: One night, Deadpool sees Spider-Man's face and then kisses him, sparking something unbreakable between them.Meanwhile, Peter Parker meets Wade Wilson on Tinder, unaware of the fact that he already knows Wade very intimately indeed.





	1. Psycho Killer

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't stop thinking about this.  
> It isn't beta'd so any mistakes are mine.

Like all good love stories, this one starts with an attempted murder.

 

Peter receives the ominous text message not long after he has climbed into bed with the latest Stephen King novel, and his heart sinks as he reads the simple, brutal words which light up his phone from a number he doesn’t recognise: _People will die if you don’t get your spandex-clad ass to Warehouse 27 on the riverfront, Spidey._

 

Peter keeps two phones these days, both his normal phone and the phone he uses in his dealings as Spider-Man. He mostly uses the latter to send Tony and Steve photographs of him posing on top of increasingly tall buildings. Very occasionally, Tony will send him a text asking him to intervene with a local crime. But mostly the Spider-Man phone, a sleek iPhone, sits silently at the bottom of his bag.

 

So who has the number? Peter considers calling Tony, but decides against it. He’s trying to prove that he can handle things like this by himself. Sighing to himself, he gets out of bed and slips into the Spider-Man suit, which was the first thing he hung up in his closet when he moved into this apartment a week ago. Stepping delicately over some of the unpacked cardboard boxes by the window, Peter inhales and leaps out.

 

It is an easy journey down. The streets are unusually quiet, and a gentle drizzle makes the buildings slick. Peter has plenty of time to wonder who sent him that message as swings from glowing streetlight to glowing streetlight. This whole situation has him at a disadvantage. He has no idea what is waiting for him.

 

Warehouse 27 is at the end of a row of enormous, quiet buildings. Peter climbs up the side and slides in through a window, landing quietly on the floor of a huge, empty room. The whole place is lit in harsh white light, and he looks around, searching for either victims of his apparent enemy or someone attempting to kill him.

 

He feels his spidey senses prickle, and he shoots a web at the ceiling as the lights go out, plunging him into darkness. He swings himself up as the first shot rings out, narrowly missing him, and he cringes as he hears the bullet smash into the stone wall.

 

He shoots another web from his wrist and swings across the room, hearing bullets chasing him as he moves. Tony built some impressive night vision technology into this version of the suit, and it activates automatically, allowing him a green-tinted view of the assassin below.

 

“Hey!” he calls out, automatically. “Could you… could you not, please, bad guy?”

 

The man is pointing the pistol at him, and Peter hears the satisfying click of the empty barrel. The assassin is a very strong looking man in a red-and-black spandex suit, clinging just a little too tightly to his body. A pair of katanas are strapped to his broad back, and a pair of night vision goggles are fastened over his masked face.

 

Peter stares at him as he reaches the far wall, clinging to it and falling still. His heart is pounding in his chest. He recognises this man, but he can’t quite recall the name. Some sort of criminal? They’ve definitely never met. The assassin has no motivation to lure Peter out here and attempt to shoot him.

 

The assassin is standing, silent, the gun still pointing at Peter. He makes no move to change the clip.

 

“Um… hey?” Peter says. “Did you mean to try to shoot me?”

 

The man cocks his head, as though he is listening intently, although nobody is speaking. Finally, he speaks in a surprisingly warm voice. “Absolutely ridiculous,” he says.

 

Peter is absolutely baffled. “Sorry, what?” he asks.

 

The man shakes his head. “Not you. Well, yes, you, but I wasn’t talking to you.”

 

“Do you want to put the gun down, bad guy?” Peter asks, in what he hopes is a firm voice. He has to try to get control of this weird situation.

 

“Not really, Spidey.” The man takes a step forward.

 

Peter reacts automatically, shooting two jets of web which coat the man’s boots and stick him quite solidly to the floor. The man stills, shuffling experimentally.

 

“I have super strength,” the man says, conversationally. “I could probably escape from this kinky fuckery, baby.”

 

His words make Peter flush awkwardly. He’s glad his face is hidden. There is something very pleasing about this man’s voice. “We might be here a while if you’re planning on wiggling your way out of this sticky situation,” Peter quips automatically.

 

To his surprise, the man in red bursts out laughing.

 

“Did you text me?” Peter asks.

 

“Baby, if I’d known you were this charming and fucking _lithe,_  I’d have been texting you for weeks. And far more _interesting_ things than the bullshit I sent tonight.”

 

Peter is sure his face must be crimson beneath the mask, and he is almost glad when the lights go on suddenly, blinding him for a second as the suit automatically adjusts.

 

Another man walks into the room, a man in a smart business suit with a tidy black beard. Peter does recognise this man: Antonio Pharaoh, a local legitimate businessman whose wife asked Spider-Man to help her escape his violent behaviour. Peter managed to get her out, but failed to bring any sort of police attention to Antonio for it.

 

Pharaoh is waving a gun around, furious. “I paid you to kill him, Deadpool, not fucking flirt with him,” he snarls at the assassin.

 

Of course. _Of course._ Deadpool. Peter knows the name- and the reputation. A mercenary who can’t be controlled by anyone, who refuses to work with either the X-Men or the Avengers, despite the fact he is easily capable.

 

Peter is fairly sure that Deadpool is mostly chaotic good- or at least chaotic neutral- and not a bad guy as such. So attempting to murder Spider-Man seems a bit out of the blue.

 

The mercenary in question is tugging off the night-vision goggles with his empty hand. “Are you sure Spidey was the one who killed your wife, Tony? He doesn’t seem the type.”

 

“Killed his wife?” Peter exclaims, outraged. “He beat her, Deadpool. I helped her escape him.”

 

Deadpool sighs. “Of course you did, baby. You’re so-”

 

Whatever Deadpool thinks of him is lost as Antonio shoots the merc in the head.

 

Peter lets out a strangled cry as the bullet- and scraps of brain matter- fly out of the side of Deadpool’s head. He crumples to the floor awkwardly, his feet still caught in the webbing. Peter shoots a jet of web at the gun, tossing it across the room, then shoots another load directly into Pharaoh's face. The man snarls, muffled by the dense web, blinded by it, and he stumbles forward as Peter swings down and kicks him hard in the head, causing him to drop silently to the ground. He’s out cold.

 

Peter turns to Deadpool, drops to his knees beside him. His heart is thundering now, and he feels sick. He paws at Deadpool’s wrist, but there’s no pulse. He’s cold.

 

“Fuck,” Peter mutters, and he feels an unreasonable amount of sadness welling up. “Shit.”

 

Tears prickle his eyes, and he glances at the unconscious form of Pharaoh before reaching up to pull his mask off. He hates crying in it, and he balls it in his hand as he stares down at the dead mercenary, tears starting to flow down his face.

 

It is ridiculous to be this upset. Peter hates seeing death, and it always hurts, but something about Deadpool has really shaken him. He wonders if it is because Deadpool flirted with him. Nobody ever fucking flirts with him.

 

God, he’s glad nobody can see him now.

 

He is weeping openly when Deadpool’s hand suddenly shoots out and grabs his wrist.

 

Spider-Man shames himself forever by leaping backwards and screaming.

 

“Hey,” Deadpool murmurs. “Hey, don’t cry, Spidey.”

 

Peter stares down at the still unmoving form of Deadpool. The merc’s hand is still wrapped around wrist, and his thumb strokes Peter’s arm soothingly, but he isn’t moving apart from this. What the hell is going on? “You… you were shot in the head,” he says, numbly.

 

“Did you think I was _dead_?” Deadpool asks. Then he laughs, long and loud. “Spidey, chance would be a fine thing.”

 

“Wh-what?”

 

“I can’t die,” Deadpool says briskly. “Fuck knows I’ve fucking tried, Spidey. At this stage, a shot in the head is just like a rough massage. One that ends with a regretable hand job. You feel bad about it afterwards, but not enough to stop you from doing it again.”

 

Peter shakes his head, trying to clear the feeling of absolute bizarreness. “What are you even saying?”

 

“I’m saying I’ve got a bad fucking headache. You got any aspirin in that suit of yours? I mean, I don’t know where you’d be hiding it, but I don’t mind trying to find it.” He is finally moving again, sitting up slowly.

 

“I thought you were dead! Stop flirting with me!” Peter snaps.

 

Deadpool’s fingers around his wrist tighten. “But you’re so lovely, Spidey. You’re so… good. And pretty. And… if I’m being totally, absolutely honest… you’re very fucking young, aren’t you? Too young?” He is sitting up fully now, looking at Peter- staring straight at his face.

 

His unmasked face.

 

“Shit!” Peter exclaims, turning away far, far too late, and raising the mask.

 

“Wait,” Deadpool says, surprising him by raising his other hand and resting it against Peter’s damp cheek, turning it firmly back to face his gaze. Peter wishes for a moment that he could see the look in the eyes hidden behind Deadpool’s mask. “Don’t panic. I can hardly see you anyway. My eyes are all funny from being, you know, murdered a few minutes ago.”

 

“Is that true?” Peter asks. The words come out shakily.

 

Deadpool pauses. Then he sighs. “Well, I can’t lie to you, Spidey. You look _amazing_ , a real sight for sore eyes- literally. I can see you, and I am incredibly grateful for that.”

 

“You are a fucking creep,” Peter says drily, and Deadpool laughs at the swearing.

 

“Tell me you’re over eighteen, Spidey.”

 

“Please stop,” Peter says, and he knows he is blushing. His face is unmasked now, and Deadpool can see the crimson stains on his skin. “I’m twenty-one. Are you... older?” Why do these words come out so strangled? Peter needs to go and lie down. Everything about this encounter is embarrassing.

 

Deadpool laughs. “A little, yeah, baby boy. Say, as fond as I am of these incredibly sexy web restraints, can you free me and take me home? I need to lie down while my brain literally knits itself back together.”

 

Peter bites his lip, looking at the webbing. It will take a little while to wear off by itself. “I can probably pull you out of it,” he offers. “It might hurt your legs, though.”

 

“Healing factor, Spidey. It’s not going to hurt more than what’s currently happening in the hot mess of my brain. Just give me a good yank,” Deadpool says, cheerily.

 

Peter slips one arm behind Deadpool’s knees, and wraps the other around the back of his torso. Groaning, he stands up, pulling against the restraints he placed Deadpool in. With effort, he pulls the mercenary loose, thankfully without breaking any bones.

 

Deadpool stands before him. He is quite a lot bigger than Peter, muscular and full in a way Peter will never be. He is a spectacular man, muscles hugged tightly by his suit. For a moment, Peter’s mouth goes dry as he tries not to look.

 

“You’re really something,” Deadpool breathes, the words barely audible.

 

Peter doesn’t understand how anyone can say those words while looking at his own utterly unremarkable face, and he isn’t sure how to reply.

 

He is saved from having to think of an appropriate response by Deadpool, who turns to Antonio’s unconscious form and unsheathes one of his katanas, taking a meaningful step towards him.

 

“Woah!” Peter says. “What are you doing?”

 

Deadpool pauses, looking back at him. “Sweet baby boy, if I don’t relieve this sack of shit of his head, he’s going to continue to try to kill you. I can’t allow that.”

 

“Don’t!” Peter says. He hesitates and takes a step towards Deadpool, raising a placating hand. “We can call the police. Tell them that he… killed you…”

 

“Yeah, except with no body, what evidence are they going to have, Spidey?”

 

“Your brain matter is literally all over the floor!” Peter insists, gesturing towards it awkwardly. He has an uncomfortable feeling that it is perhaps impolite to mention Deadpool’s death.

 

Deadpool groans. “You’re so _good_ ,” he purrs. He sighs, looking from Peter to the unconscious figure on the floor. “Fine,” he says. “In exchange for something.”

 

“You don’t get to bargain for a human life, Deadpool,” Peter says, firmly.

 

“So you’re going to fight me for it?” Deadpool sighs. “You lost last time we did this.”

 

“You literally got shot in the head last time we did this,” Peter retorts, exasperated.

 

“Hear my offer before we go for round two of you blowing me away,” Deadpool chuckles. He takes a step closer to Peter, and they are almost touching now. Deadpool is still holding the katana, and Peter wonders if he should simply relieve him of it.

 

“I’m listening,” Peter says, and the words are breathy. Deadpool is so much taller than he is. Peter is staring at the curve of his lips, firmly outlined by the mask he wears.

 

“One kiss.”

 

Peter’s mouth goes dry. “I…”

 

“Nothing more, I promise. You’re just... “

 

Peter is nodding. Suddenly, he wants nothing more than to be kissed by this strange, dangerous man. It’s been a long, emotional night, and he finds himself desperate for the comfort of a kiss. It’s been a while since Peter was last kissed, longer than he’d like, and he’s never been kissed by anyone as old or- presumably- experienced as Deadpool.

 

“You’re going to have to close your eyes,” Deadpool says gently, wrapping one hand softly around the back of Peter’s neck, making the skin there erupt in goosebumps.

 

“You can see my face,” Peter says, huffily, longing to see what Deadpool has beneath his mask.

 

“Yes, and I promise I won’t abuse that information,” Deadpool replies. “It may surprise you, but I hardly run in the same circles as barely legal-”

 

“- I’m _twenty-one_!”

 

“- baby superheroes. I’m hardly going to bump into you in the street and finger you as Spider-Man.” He pauses, and Peter can hear the smile in his words. “Although, I can’t say I wouldn’t like to finger you as Spider-Man.”

 

Peter sighs. “I’ll close my eyes.” He does so, feeling ridiculous, and also oddly afraid. After all, it was less than thirty minutes ago that this man was trying to shoot him.

 

He hears the slide of the katana being returned to its sheath, then the gentle sound of moving fabric. Deadpool places his face very close to Peter’s, breathing warmly against Peter’s lips. He gives Peter plenty of time to back out of this, and Peter appreciates it immensely. In the end, it is Peter who closes the space between their mouths, reaching up and capturing Deadpool’s lips in kiss. The texture of Deadpool’s lips is… strange, almost cushioned. But they are soft and more than pleasant, and the mercenary wastes no time in pressing his other hand against the base of Peter’s spine and pressing their bodies flush against each other; as he does this, he slides his tongue into Peter’s mouth, eliciting an embarrassingly loud moan from Peter.

There is nothing _comforting_ about this kiss. Deadpool leads him, firmly and thoroughly devouring Peter, kissing him with a firm intensity that makes Peter feel dizzy.

 

Finally, Deadpool draws back, and Peter opens his eyes once he hears that he has replaced the mask.

 

“That was… something,” Peter manages, staring at the merc.

 

“Was it your first kiss?” Deadpool asks in an irritatingly condescending tone.

 

“No! What- why? Was it not good?” Peter’s cheeks are flaming, and he looks away. Typical Peter Parker.

 

“It was amazing,” Deadpool says. “It’s just, you know-”

 

“- Deadpool, for the last time, I am _twenty-one!"_

 

Deadpool laughs. “You going to take me home now, Spidey?”

 

Peter sighs, exasperated once more. He replaces his own mask and stretches. “You want to sit on my back and I’ll swing us back?” he offers.

 

Deadpool makes a strangled noise. “I would _love_ to sit on your back, Spidey. However, I have a cab outside.”

 

They leave the warehouse through the front door, and to Peter’s immense surprise, there really is a cab there. The driver offers them a broad smile as they slide in the back.

 

“Take me home, Dopinder!” Deadpool instructs him dramatically.

 

The cab crunches away and winds its way back to the main road. “Say, Mr Pool, isn’t this the guy you went to kill?” the driver asks, pleasantly.

 

“Uh, yeah, nice to meet you,” Peter replies, giving Deadpool a dark glare which he obviously can’t see.

 

They drive in silence. Peter eyes Deadpool, sitting with his hands clasped on his lap. Why is he so attracted to this absolute trainwreck of a human? He clearly needs a lot of sleep and possibly some strong medication.

 

Finally, the car stops outside a run-down apartment building. Deadpool springs from the back without thanking the driver, and Peter waves an awkward goodbye to him before following his new acquaintance into the building.

 

Deadpool takes the stairs three at a time, at a pace which would panic someone less fit than Spider-Man. They arrive on the top floor and Deadpool opens the door to his apartment without even unlocking it.

 

“Don’t you even lock your door?” Peter asks, outraged.

 

Deadpool flops onto his sofa, one hand on his forehead. Peter remembers that he must still be in quite a lot of pain, and for a moment feels guilty for forgetting. “You want to stay the night?” Deadpool asks, ignoring Peter’s question completely. “I am quite content to take either the big or small spoon position.”

 

Peter needs to get away from this, at least for now. He needs to try to clear his head. “No, thanks. I need to be up early in the morning.”

 

“Got homework to do?” Deadpool asks lightly.

 

“I’m-” Peter begins, then stops and sighs, a reluctant smile crossing his face. “Actually, I do have a paper to hand in,” he admits.

 

This earns him a loud laugh from Deadpool. “My clever college boy.”

 

Peter sighs and crosses to the window. “I hope you feel better soon,” he says.

 

“Wait!” Deadpool says, sitting up. “Who are you- really?”

 

Peter perches on the windowsill. “I’m just your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man,” he replies before leaping out, the sound of Deadpool’s laughter following him out into the night.


	2. Up Around The Bend

Peter wakes up slowly the next morning. His body aches, his muscles are tight and his head throbs painfully. His bedroom is illuminated by a pale silver light, and when he bleakly opens his eyes, he sees that rain is running down his window.

 

He sits up tenderly, wincing, and does an automatic check of his body for wounds he missed last night. He finds none; the pain is his body must just be due to his nerves being stretched to breaking point last night.

 

Bloody Deadpool. Peter pinches the bridge of his nose as he remembers the previous evening, trying to mentally order the the events from most to least troubling. Deadpool has seen his unmasked face, which should be at the very top of the list, but this fact is overshadowed by the fact that, inexplicably, Peter seems to have developed some sort of attraction to the mercenary.

 

Is it really inexplicable? Peter remembers the muscular body and warm laugh of Deadpool with a shiver.

 

And that kiss… Peter hasn't been kissed like that, ever. It was as though Deadpool wanted to swallow him, wash him away in a tide of delight and pleasure. Peter is hard just remembering it.

 

Maybe he should start dating again. If this is the effect a mercenary’s stolen kiss has on him, he needs to get laid.

 

He looks at his bedside table and sees both phones lying there. He usually leaves Peter's phone there overnight, but rarely the Spider-Man phone; his enhanced senses make it easy to hear the thing ring even if it is buried in the bottom of his bag, and in the (admittedly highly unlikely) event of someone being in his bedroom, he doesn't want to have to explain why he has two phones.

 

He almost laughs as he sees the Spider-Man suit draped inelegantly across the pile of cardboard boxes. This logic clearly doesn't apply when he gets home late, exhausted and kiss-drunk.

 

He reaches for his own personal phone first, partly because the thought of lifting the Spider-Man phone makes his stomach twist up in a fashion that is not entirely unpleasant.

 

He has a message from MJ:  _ Meet in the library at 10? _

 

It's already nine thirty. Peter sighs, typing back a message that he's running a little late.

 

There are two unread messages on the Spider-Man phone. Peter tries to convince himself that his heart rate doesn't spike wildly when he sees this.

 

They are both from the number that messaged him last night. The first makes Peter flush:  _ Thanks for last night, baby. Sorry about the whole attempted murder thing, I owe you a drink if you'll let me take you out. Sex heavily implied. _

 

Following on from this highly romantic proposition comes a shorter text:  _ This is Deadpool, btw. (Obviously, I assume.) _

 

Peter needs some time to ponder his reply. On one hand, it is no good for Spider-Man (or Peter Parker) to go around starting relationships with morally ambiguous mercenaries. It can only end badly.

 

On the other hand, Deadpool makes his body feel things he wouldn't want to explain to anyone.

 

He saves the number and heads to the shower, raking a hand through his tangled hair.

 

Beneath the warm water, he tries very hard to stay focused on washing himself. If he allows his mind to drift back to Deadpool, he isn't ever going to make it to the library.

 

He dries quickly and throws on some old jeans and a faded grey t-shirt. He packs his bag quickly, throwing in his text books, both phones and, after a moment's deliberation, the Spider-Man suit. He doesn't always carry it, but he often does, afraid of needing it and not having it.

 

Grabbing a banana- the only food he has in the new apartment- he heads out the front door and hurries down into the rainy street, beginning a swift jog to the college library.

 

MJ is sitting at a computer when he arrives. The place is busy, a symptom of the approaching end of the semester, but MJ has saved him a seat. She looks at him and raises an eyebrow, a quirk which Peter has realised is the equivalent of a welcoming smile.

 

“I'm so sorry,” Peter says as he sits down. “I overslept.”

 

“Late night? Hot date?” MJ asks, then laughs as though she has just told a hilarious joke.

 

Peter feels the blood rush to his face as he remembers the taste of Deadpool’s lips. MJ’s eyes widen as she observes the crimson stains streaking across his face and she barks out a startled laugh.

 

“Seriously, Parker? You  _ were _ on a date?”

 

“Well, not exactly,” Peter says, deciding that lying outright is not going to work here. It is very difficult to lie to MJ. He is still constantly surprised that she doesn’t realise the truth about his secret identity. “I… met someone. We kissed.”

 

“And will you see them again?” MJ asks, staring at him now with open curiosity.

 

Peter thinks of the text messages he has yet to reply to. “It isn’t a good idea,” he replies, honestly. “I don’t think he’s good for me.”

 

MJ nods. Her hair is bundled back in a bun, giving her a serious, scholarly look, and Peter feels uncomfortable beneath her scrutinizing gaze. “Perhaps you  _ should _ date, though, Parker. It’s been a while.”

 

Peter shrugs awkwardly. “Let me just focus on submitting this paper first, MJ.”

 

They fall into silent, companionable focus, typing away with focus. Peter tries hard not to let his thoughts wander as he works on putting the finishing touches to his paper. Luckily, he hasn’t left himself too much work to complete.

 

Finally, it is submitted. Peter sits back and looks at MJ, who finished a small while ago and is still staring at him with naked intensity.

 

“What?” he asks.

 

“You should download Tinder,” she suggests, with wicked glee.

 

Peter cringes. “God, MJ, no. Why? Who would want to date me?” He means this; he is a nerdy, socially awkward, penniless college student by day, who occasionally works shifts in the local coffee shop to make ends meet, and then by night… well, who would want to date a man who spends his evenings swinging from buildings risking his life and is regularly unavailable for dinner dates?

 

“How about anybody with an ounce of common sense, Parker?” MJ replies, firmly. “You’re gorgeous, hilarious and smart. You have a good heart and you’re caring.”

 

Peter sighs. He thinks again about how pleasant it was to kiss Deadpool, how it had made his heart race. Maybe he does need to find someone. At least then he might stop daydreaming about the way the mercenary dipped his tongue so wantonly into his mouth.

 

“Fine,” he says, quietly, digging around in his backpack, careful to wrap his fingers around the correct phone and toss it to MJ.

 

As she fusses with it, presumably downloading the app she has decided he needs, he sneakily looks into his bag and unlocks the Spider-Man phone, staring at the messages from Deadpool. He takes a deep breath and sends a response:  _ Drinks tonight? Top of your apartment building, 11pm? _

 

Why did he do that? What’s wrong with him? He sighs at himself and places his bag on the floor. He really wants to see Deadpool again. There is no way to deny that. But he needs to keep it strictly platonic.

 

“We need a good photograph,” MJ announces suddenly.

 

“Oh-” Peter’s eyes are round as the flash on his phone’s camera goes off. He can’t imagine it’s a good photograph.

 

MJ is already moving on. “What should we put as your bio?  _ Nerdy college student, professional coffee creator and secretive enigma seeks similar? _ ”

 

“Um- no?”

 

“I’ve finished! Shall we start to browse?”

 

Peter can only sit in stunned silence as MJ moves her chair closer so that he can see the screen. Handsome faces of young men dance across the display as she thumbs quickly through them, keeping up a steady stream of approving or disapproving noises.

 

“Wait,” Peter says.

 

The face on the screen is… disfigured? Scarred? There isn’t a word which springs easily to mind to describe it. The man is bald, his skin pale and pitted. He is smiling, revealing beautiful teeth. His eyes are hazel, twinkling and kind with a hint of humour Peter finds indescribably attractive. According to the box beneath, his name is Wade, he’s 34, and the bio simply reads:  _ I like tacos. _

 

“Him,” Peter swallows. “Swipe… whichever way is the positive way. On him.”

 

MJ pauses, gives him a studying look. “Him? Sure.”

 

She swipes, and a message pops up.  _ Congratulations! It’s a match! _

 

“Huh,” MJ says. “He must be on now. Almost like he was waiting for you.” She grins at him. “Do you want to send him a message?”

 

Peter nods, numbly, and takes the phone from her. “What… what should I say?”

 

MJ laughs. “I can’t hold your hand through all of this, Parker. Besides, I’ve got a lunch date. See you!” She stands up abruptly and leaves before Peter can ask with whom she has a date.

 

He looks down at the photograph of the man- Wade- again, wondering what to type. There is something impossibly appealing about him, something Peter likes immediately. He doesn’t want to screw it up before he’s even had a chance to meet him.

 

His phone buzzes in his hand. Wade has sent him a message first.

 

_ How do you feel about creepy older gentlemen who look like Ryan Reynolds crossed with way too much microwave energy? _

 

Peter smiles.


	3. Unintended

_ How do you feel about creepy older gentlemen who look like Ryan Reynolds crossed with way too much microwave energy? _

 

_ I feel pretty good about it, if I’m being honest. How do you feel about much younger men who are chronically awkward? _

 

_ I feel more than a little aroused about it. Seriously, why on earth did you swipe right on this ugly face? _

 

_ You aren’t ugly! You have the nicest smile and most beautiful eyes I’ve seen in a long time. Why would you swipe right on this dweeby little face? _

 

_ Um, you’re literally gorgeous? Plus, you look like someone who would stick around when things got rough. _

 

_ Do you want to give me your number? _

 

_ Sure, baby boy. _

 

* * *

Peter is still thinking about Wade as he webs his way up the side of Deadpool’s building that night. Once Wade had sent him his number, Peter messaged him to arrange a date tomorrow afternoon, then left his phone at home in order to make his way to his appointment with Deadpool.

 

He knows he needs to keep it platonic, especially now Wade is on the scene.

 

It is still raining, but it’s gentle, and he’s only a little cool inside the suit as he reaches the top. He’s half-expecting Deadpool not to be there, especially since the merc never replied to his message, but he’s sat cross-legged in a puddle, several bottles of beer around him. He is- inexplicably- armed to the teeth.

 

“Spidey! You came!” he exclaims brightly.

 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Peter asks, sitting down opposite Deadpool.

 

Deadpool pauses, cocks his head thoughtfully. Then he shrugs. “Wasn’t sure you’d want to hang out with me, especially after I- you know- gave you the best kiss of your life. Beer?”

 

Peter laughs nervously. “It wasn’t- well- I mean… yeah, please.” He sighs, blushing furiously beneath the mask.

 

Deadpool tosses him a beer and makes an approving noise when Peter catches it easily. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. “Take your mask off, Spidey.”

 

“Why?” Peter asks, suspiciously.

 

“Many reasons. You are lovely to look at, you have no reason not to as I’ve already seen your glorious visage, and it’ll make it easier for you to drink.” Deadpool is obviously grinning beneath his own mask.

 

Peter has to agree with the final reason, and he pulls the mask off, his hair fluttering in the gentle, damp breeze. He takes a long drink of the beer. “You not going to join me?”

 

“I am not, for many reasons, primarily that I look like an undercooked piece of turkey under here, but also because I can’t get drunk.”

 

Peter cocks his head. “You can’t? Then why did you agree to have drinks with me?”

 

“I could say it wasn’t because I enjoyed the thought of having you near my apartment, drunk and horny, but I’m not a good liar.”

 

Peter is positively scarlet. He wills himself to remember his own conviction to keep this platonic, and to ignore the heat which Deadpool’s words send through him. He chokes down a mouthful of alcohol. “Can I ask you something?” he says, trying to change the subject.

 

“Anything, baby.”

 

“Why did you think I was capable of killing Pharaoh’s wife? Haven’t you… you know, heard of Spider-Man?”

 

“Of course I have. I’ve been reading about that sexy, spandex-clad ass of yours for weeks. But it’s all conflicting tabloid journalism. I mean, have you read the Daily Bugle? It’s forever full of reports of how you’re a fucking menace. They want to make out you’re a dangerous criminal. It’s hard to be sure without meeting a guy.” Deadpool shrugs. “I’ve apologised. Now I am giving you beer. You’d heard of me, right?”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Peter laughs, taking a long mouthful. “I think Tony has mentioned you more than once. He wants you to join the Avengers. I think it’s so he can control you.”

 

Deadpool laughs. “Probably. I’m a bit of a liability, as you’ve seen. I can’t die, and I’m really fucking good at killing stuff.”

 

“Why not use all that for good?” Peter asks. “Rather than selling your skills to the highest bidder?”

 

“Guy’s gotta eat, Spidey. Actually, I probably don’t, but I like to. Superheroes don’t exactly get paid a lot. Plus, I’m bad at following instructions.”

 

“Yeah, I can imagine that,” Peter laughs.

 

He finishes his beer and places the empty bottle aside. Deadpool wordlessly passes him another, which he opens and drinks from deeply. Deadpool is watching him; it is impossible to see his expression beneath the mask, but Peter suspects he is smiling.

 

“Did you manage to submit your paper?” Deadpool asks suddenly.

 

Peter freezes for a moment, then remembers that Deadpool knows his age, the fact that he’s a college student and what his face looks like (as well as- let’s be honest- the way his mouth tastes and the noises he makes when he’s aroused). He is playing with fire here, but he sighs. “Yes, thanks.”

 

“What are you studying?”

 

“Good try, pal, but you know quite enough about me,” Peter laughs.

 

Deadpool laughs. “Clever boy.”

 

Peter drains the second bottle. “How come you can’t die?”

 

Deadpool passes him yet another bottle, which Peter looks at doubtfully. Should he drink three beers? He has barely been able to legally drink for six months. He can hardly hold his alcohol. Already, the damp rooftop is blurring pleasantly. Deadpool shifts closer to him, bringing the beer and pressing it into his fingers, and Peter laughs.

 

“Tell me,” he says, opening the bottle.

 

“You have a wonderful smile,” Deadpool says.

 

Peter nudges him in the arm with his shoulder. They are sitting so close now, Peter could snuggle into the merc’s damp body if he wanted to. “Stop changing the subject. How come you can’t die?”

 

“Depends on which origin story we’re using. It doesn’t really matter. I’m just cursed to live out a lonely existence looking like a stray meatball.”

 

“Stop playing the sympathy card to make it more likely that I’ll make out with you again,” Peter laughs drunkenly, dimly aware of his promise to himself not to make this encounter less than platonic. “What do you look like under there? Can I see?”

 

Deadpool hesitates, then shakes his head, saying, “No, Spidey. I don’t want to alarm you. You aren’t drunk enough to deal with what’s beneath here.”

 

“I don’t think it would bother me,” Peter shrugs, taking a long drink, thinking momentarily of Wade. “It isn’t like I don’t like you for you.”

 

Deadpool shuffles almost imperceptibly closer, so that their arms are touching. “You do, do you?”

 

Peter nudges him again. “You know I do. Doesn’t mean I think it’s a good idea. But I do.”

 

The moment is shattered by the sound of distant screaming echoing from several streets away. Peter looks at Deadpool, then puts the beer to one side and reaches for his mask. Deadpool’s hand falls on his arm firmly.

 

“You can’t. You’re drunk, baby.” Deadpool’s voice is unusually serious. “Let me.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Deadpool,” Peter replies, pulling the mask on. “I have to-”

 

“You’re going to fall off a building, my little enchilada. Just stay here. I’ll deal with it.” Deadpool clearly realises he is going to need more than this to persuade Spider-Man, because he adds, reluctantly, “I won’t even kill anyone. I promise.”

 

Peter hesitates. The world is blurring. His arms and legs are tingling. He is likely to be dangerous to himself in this state, and Deadpool is offering to sort the problem out. Maybe he should just stay. It isn’t like Deadpool can die- he’s hardly going to be in any danger.

 

Finally, he nods, numbly.

 

“Don’t leave before I get back,” Deadpool says, with startling intensity, and he brushes his face against Peter’s, kissing him through the masks briefly before leaping up and rushing to the edge of the building.

 

Peter stares after him. He is suddenly exhausted. Perhaps he should just lie down.

 

But the roof is wet and unpleasant. He could easily climb down into Deadpool’s apartment and go for a lie down there.

 

Carefully, he slides down the building until he gets to the correct window, which is- luckily- standing open. There is the couch which Deadpool was lying on when Peter left him yesterday. Perhaps he will have a little rest there.

 

He goes over and lies down on it, sinking into it and pulling his mask off before closing his eyes.

 

Some time later, he wakes up into an inky darkness and feels soft, unmasked lips at his temple. “I saved three women. And a kitten. And I didn’t kill anyone,” Deadpool whispers. “Only slightly maimed them.”

 

Peter laughs sleepily. He can’t see anything, but he knows that if he could, the world would be spinning. “Thanks, Deadpool. I should be getting home-”

 

A firm hand presses him into the sofa. “No. Stay here. I’ll get you a blanket.”

 

Peter is asleep again by the time Deadpool drapes a quilt over him.

 

* * *

Peter Parker. It had been easy to find his full name when he had come across that ridiculous photograph on Tinder of all places.

 

Wade sits thoughtfully, perched upon his kitchen counter, watching as the early morning sunshine creeps, golden and beautiful, across Peter’s sleeping face.

 

[Too beautiful for you, you freak. He’ll take one look at you and run.]

 

“That’s not true,” he whispers, “he saw my ugly face on Tinder and still chose me.”

 

And what a strange and unexpected miracle that was. Wade had almost toppled off the rooftop he had been sitting on when the notification popped up.

 

Wade has done what anyone would have done (or maybe not, let’s be honest) and Googled the shit out of young Peter Parker. He is indeed 21, a college student majoring in biophysics, and a part-time barista at a local coffee shop. Wade has also been able to find out that he has recently moved house to an apartment not very far from this one. Really, Peter Parker is damn lucky that person to figure out his real identity is a dangerous mercenary with a huge crush on him, rather than a regular dangerous mercenary.

 

{Imagine how he’d feel if he knew how you’re obsessing over him.}

 

“Shut up,” Wade hisses, forcefully.

 

Peter groans, doe-like brown eyes open slowly then quickly flicking shut again when the light hits them. He reaches one gloved hand up to cover his face and groans again, more loudly. “Deadpool?” he asks, in a croak.

 

Wade’s heart stutters. Peter’s first thought upon waking was  _ him. _ “I’m here, baby,” he replies, jauntily.

 

Peter looks at him through narrowed eyes. His hair is sticking up hilariously and he looks gloriously dishevelled. “Still not going to let me see your face, huh?”

 

“If you’re feeling as queasy as you look, you definitely couldn’t handle it, Spidey.” Wade throws him a bottle of water and watches in admiration as, even in his hungover state, Peter’s reflexes cause his hand to shoot straight up and catch the bottle easily.

 

Peter chugs down a grateful mouthful then sits up. “What time is it?”

 

Wade feels a painful tug as he watches Peter Parker caught in the full beam of the morning sun beaming in through his apartment window. He wants this- always. There is no way, not a single chance, that Peter would want to sleep on Wade’s sofa if he knew the truth about what is under this mask.

 

He supposes that’s why he’s going on a date with Peter as Wade; he wants to probe Peter’s reaction to what is beneath the Deadpool suit.

 

Also- if he’s honest- it’s because he thinks it’ll be really fucking funny.

 

It’s a bloody miracle that Peter doesn’t already know that Wade Wilson is Deadpool. It’s hardly a great secret.

 

“It’s just after eight,” Wade says.

 

“I should go,” Peter groans. “I have work and then…” He pulls a face as he realises that- yet again- he has given far too much information to Deadpool.

 

“Work, eh?” Wade chuckles, as though he doesn’t already know the exact location of Peter Parker’s job. “Masked vigilantism not paying the bills? It’s almost as if mercenary work is more profitable.”

 

Peter scowls at him. “Yeah, because this place is a palace.”

 

“You’re so cute when you get snippy, baby.”

 

Peter blushes, the beautiful scarlet flush that comes so easily to his cheeks. Not for the first time, Wade wonders how far down his body it goes. Peter pulls the mask on and stands up, unsteady but probably fine enough to make the short journey home.

 

“Thanks for last night,” he says, softly. “I’ll be seeing you.”

 

[Sooner than you think.]

 

“Any time, Spidey.”


	4. Halo

Peter is thankfully feeling a lot less ropey when he stumbles into work fifteen minutes late. He spent a long, soapy shower trying not to think about how sweet and lovely Deadpool has been to him, then threw on some loose jeans and a plain black shirt and ran to work.

 

“You are looking a little peaky, Peter,” Cecilia, the manager, tells him, peering at him suspiciously as she passes him his apron. She is a medical student.

 

“Just got a bit of flu,” Peter lies, avoiding her gaze.

 

About an hour into his shift, as he’s carrying a tray of empty mugs to be washed, he sees a familiar face pop up on the TV they have running by the counter. It’s Deadpool, a photograph of him that he must have submitted himself for this very purpose: he is lying posed on a chaise longue in his full suit. The creep. They keep the volume off in the coffee shop, but the subtitles are on, and they make Peter’s lips quirk up in a smile.

 

_ Last night, Deadpool- a mercenary and occasional vigilante described by the mayor as ‘a plague on our city’ saved three women who were being held up by a man with a gun. On his way out of the crime scene, he also rescued a small kitten from a tree. _

 

Peter has to repress a smile.

 

The rest of his shift goes quickly. He is meeting Wade when he finishes, and the Tinder stranger has agreed to come and meet him at work. He begins to get nervous as one o’clock ticks closer, his palms sweating a little as he makes coffees at the counter for the babbling stream of customers. What if Wade doesn’t like him?

 

He decides he needs a pep talk before he does this, and so, at 12.58, he slips off his green apron and slides into the staff room, opening up his backpack.

 

There are messages on both phones. He exhales unsteadily.

 

From Deadpool to Spider-Man:  _ You feeling okay, my hungover little arachnid? _

 

From Wade to Peter:  _ See you at one, baby! _

 

He sighs, deciding not to reply to either, and begins to type a message to MJ. He has barely managed to type out the first few letters when the staff room door opens and Cecilia pops her head in.

 

“Hey, Peter, there’s a man here asking for you,” she says, with a knowing twinkle in her eyes.

 

As he blushes, she disappears again, leaving him to take in his own horrified expression in the mirror. The jeans he is wearing are a little too loose and baggy, and the black shirt is a little too tight. His cheeks are pink, and his hair is sticking up a little. There are dark bags beneath his eyes from staying up too late and drinking with Deadpool.

 

He steels himself. He has to stop thinking about the merc, and focus on the lovely man waiting for him outside.

 

Wade is leaning against the no-service end of the counter when Peter emerges. He is wearing a grey hoodie with the hood pulled up, casting his face in shadow, but even with this, Peter can still make out the strangely beautiful pitted texture of his skin. One of Peter’s first impressions of the man is that he is bloody huge; ripped and muscular in a way that would possibly make even Deadpool jealous.

 

Peter’s stomach twists itself into a painful knot. His skin is clammy, his heart racing in his chest. There is nothing unpleasant about the way Wade looks, not to Peter Parker.

 

“Hey,” he says, in what he hopes is a cool fashion, as he steps in front of Wade.

 

Those piercing hazel eyes sweep his body and focus on his face, burning into him with intensity. Wade’s mouth twists into a slow, devastating smile. “Hello, Peter,” he replies.

 

He is lovely.

 

“Do you… do you want to get out of here and get a drink?” Peter asks, and he knows his voice comes out slightly breathless.

 

“It’s one in the afternoon, young Peter,” Wade says, in a scolding tone, but with his eyes twinkling. “Is your biggest secret that you’re really into daytime drinking?”

 

Peter almost laughs. If only his biggest secret was that. He’d probably find dating a lot easier. “It’s still a novelty to me. When you’ve been drinking as long as you have, it probably loses its appeal.”

 

“Ouch,” Wade replies, laughing. “I could drink you under the table, Peter.”

 

Peter’s stomach is bubbling nervously, but he forces himself to raise a cocky eyebrow. “That sounds like a challenge.”

 

To his great surprise, Wade reaches out and takes his hand, pulling him gently towards the door. The skin on his hand has the same texture as his face, and his grip is warm and strong. “Challenge it is, baby.”

 

They walk down the street, still holding hands. Peter looks up at him, trying not to stare, but finding himself unable to look away. Peter feels tiny next to Wade, and he likes it; Wade is strong and  _ masculine _ in the way that has always made Peter’s skin erupt in goosebumps.

 

Of course, Peter could easily injure Wade- maybe even kill him- with his bare hands. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t nice to feel dainty and precious next to a big, strong man.

 

Wade makes a face, not looking at him. “Are you thinking about my skin?” he asks. “I know I look… well…”

 

“What? No, I wasn’t,” Peter replies, feeling suddenly guilty for staring.

 

“It’s fine if you were. I probably would. It’s human nature.” Wade grimaces, then looks down at Peter, releasing his hand. “I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to do this. You know, now you’ve seen me.”

 

Peter shakes his head, reaching for Wade’s hand again and wrapping his fingers around it. “No, I do want to. A lot, actually.” He is blushing now.

 

They duck into a small Mexican diner. It is small and warm, the windows steamed up, full of people sitting eating delicious-looking food. The air smells spicy and meaty. Wade doesn’t release Peter’s fingers as he asks- in Spanish- the waitress to seat them. They are taken across the restaurant, through the narrow gaps between occupied tables, to a small booth at the back.

 

Peter sits opposite Wade, sliding his backpack onto the floor at his feet. He thinks for a moment about the Spider-Man phone, and wonders what Deadpool would say if he could see Spidey blushing helplessly on a date with an older, muscular man. He’d probably be jealous.

 

Wade pushes his hood down, and rubs self-consciously at his scalp. Peter cocks his head, watching those big fingers.

 

“Why food?” Peter asks, finally.

 

“You don’t look like you could manage more than… oh, I don’t know, three beers without eating something first.” Wade is grinning at him. It makes Peter’s stomach feel like liquid. “Plus, this place is great.”

 

“Yeah, but just wait until I do eat something. I will definitely drink you under the table.”

 

Wade laughs. There is something familiar and pleasant about the sound. It makes Peter’s skin tingle, and he can’t tell if it is just attraction or his enhanced senses trying to tell him something. “Sure you will.”

 

The waitress comes over for their order. Wade orders a large beer and a chimichanga. Peter orders a small beer and some tacos. He watches as Wade smiles charmingly, almost flirtatiously, up at the waitress. The man is a bit of an enigma, to be honest. He is clearly very self-conscious about the way that he looks, but he seems to be a bit of a flirt despite this.

 

Once she’s gone, Wade turns that charming grin back to Peter. “Tell me about yourself.”

 

“There’s not much to know about me,” Peter replies.

 

“I doubt that very much.” Wade’s eyes glitter.

 

“Well, my name is Peter Parker, I’m 21 and I’m studying biophysics. As you know, I also work making coffee and I’m fairly socially awkward.”

 

Wade laughs. “Anything else? Any dark secrets?”

 

Peter almost smiles to himself. Just the one massive dark secret that he can’t tell anyone. “Not really, unless you count an embarrassing love of bad movies.”

 

“I definitely don’t,” Wade smiles.

 

“What about you?”

 

Wade waits for the waitress to hand them their beers before he responds after thanking her. “My name is Wade Wilson.” He seems to wait for some response from Peter.

 

“Seems like both of our parents decided it was a good idea to curse us with alliterative names,” Peter says.

 

Wade laughs, again, and takes a mouthful of beer. “I’m thirteen years older than you.”

 

“Creep,” Peter says, but sticks his tongue out. He is startled when Wade reaches out with unnaturally good reflexes and pinches the end of it firmly. His finger tastes salty. Peter blushes, and Wade raises the place where his eyebrow would be before drawing back. “That was… impressively fast,” Peter says, slowly.

 

“I was in the military for a long time,” Wade replies, shrugging.

 

That explains a lot. “What do you do now?”

 

Wade gives him a small smile. “Freelance work.”

 

Peter wants to probe further. What sort of freelance work? Writing? Photography? But Wade pushes his beer bottle against Peter’s untouched one and gently nudges it across to him.

 

“Drink up, Parker, or there’s no way you’re going to drink me under anything.”

 

His words make Peter inexplicably blush again. He takes a long mouthful of his beer. He is having a nice time. The man opposite him is… fantastic. Silently sending thanks to MJ, he reaches across the table and brushes his fingers against Wade’s, and is pleased when his date sighs so softly it would be inaudible to anyone other than Peter.

 

“You really don’t think I’m repulsive?” Wade asks.

 

Peter steels himself. “I think you’re gorgeous, to be honest. Plus, it isn’t like I don’t like you for you.” He flinches as he hears the words he said to Deadpool only last night.

 

Wade’s expression is unreadable. His fingers squeeze Peter’s, and he takes another drink of beer. “Maybe your senses are just a bit dull,” he says, eventually. “And you just can’t see what a hideous monster I am. I’m just going to go to the bathroom.”

 

Peter watches him walk away, trying not to stare at the broad expanse of his back hungrily. Once Wade is out of sight, Peter sighs, and remembers that he didn’t ever reply to Deadpool. He retrieves the Spider-Man phone and rereads the message:  _ You feeling okay, my hungover little arachnid? _

 

He tries not to smile as he types a reply:  _ I’m drinking again, you’d be proud. Thanks for sorting out that thing last night. Saw that stupid photo of you on the news. _

 

Peter goes to replace the phone in his bag, looking furtively to see if Wade is on his way back, but is startled when the phone buzzes in his hand with another message from Deadpool:  _ Stupid photo? As you are well aware, Spidey, baby, I am a glorious shape of a man. And who has been irresponsible enough to allow you to drink in the middle of the day, my barely legal superhero chum? _

 

The bathroom door opens and Peter quickly puts the phone in the bag, leaning back and trying not to look flushed. Wade approaches and sits down with a smile so predatory it causes electricity to rush to Peter’s groin. He quickly finishes his beer.

 

“One small beer down,” Wade says, lips twitching. “This plan to drink me under the table is off to a good start.” He drains his own bottle.

 

The waitress brings their food over, and Wade orders two large beers, which she returns with. Peter eyes the larger bottle with some trepidation, momentarily regretting allowing himself to challenge this far older- and larger- man.

 

They eat for a while in silence, Peter aware of Wade’s eyes on him. It’s difficult to read the older man, who seems mercurial but generally pleasant. Sometimes he looks at Peter as if he expects Peter to insult him and leave. Sometimes he looks at Peter like he wants to devour him. And occasionally, like now, his expression is tender.

 

“How is it?” Wade asks.

 

“Delicious,” Peter says honestly, swallowing a delicious mouthful of taco shell and beef. He washes it down with a long mouthful of beer.

 

The Spider-Man phone starts to ring. He cringes, then remembers that Wade doesn’t know that this is different from his normal ringtone. Is fucking Deadpool calling him? Peter will cheerfully web that no-good mercenary to a lamppost if he is. He flushes.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I forgot to put my phone on silent.”

 

Wade waves a casual hand. “Just answer it. I don’t mind.”

 

Peter grits his teeth, opening his bag and pulling out the Spider-Man phone. He prays that Wade is less than observant, and never realises that this is different from the phone Peter is going to use during the rest of their dates- assuming there are more dates.

 

Then his heart drops.

 

It’s not Deadpool calling him. It’s Steve Rogers.

 

“Hey, bud,” Peter answers, forcing his tone to be cheerful. “I can’t really talk right now-”

 

“Peter, it’s Steve Rogers,” says Captain America, a man who probably still doesn’t realise that you don’t have to announce yourself when your name pops up on the screen of the phone before the other person has even committed to answering. “I’m so sorry if this is a bad time, son, but it’s Tony. He’s missing. I need you to meet me at the New Avengers Facility.”

 

“I’ll be straight there,” Peter says numbly. He hangs up and looks across at Wade. He really,  _ really _ doesn't want to end their date, but he has to leave. Now. He tries to form words.

 

“Whatever it is, I can see how you feel about it,” Wade says, in a surprisingly gentle voice. “I am not going to take it personally. Go, do what you need to do. I’ll settle the bill here.”

 

“I’ll get the bill next time,” Peter swears.

 

“You want a next time?” Wade asks, in genuine surprise.

 

Peter nods, grabbing his bag and leaping to his feet. He pauses, then bends to press a kiss to Wade’s temple. “I do! I’ll message you later. Sorry!”

 

He runs from the restaurant.


	5. Hooked on a Feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments and whatnot, it's lovely. :)
> 
> Some comic book explosion rules in this chapter. Not even sorry.

Peter’s nerves are almost torn to shreds by the time he swings his way up onto the roof of the New Avengers Facility. He went by his apartment on the way to collect the Spider-Man suit and to drop his bag off. The whole journey has taken less than twenty minutes, and has involved more than a few sneaky rides standing on the back of lorries.

 

Steve is waiting for him, his face solemn. Sometimes, it is easy to look at Captain America and forget that, despite the fact their bodies are of an incredibly similar age, their minds are decades apart. Today is not one of those times. His eyes are clouded.

 

“Peter, thanks for coming,” Steve says, clasping his hand.

 

“Of course I came,” Peter says, pulling off his mask.

 

Steve eyes him. “You might want to put that back on. There is a… new face here.”

 

Peter shrugs. “Anyone who is a friend of yours is a friend of mine, Captain Rogers.”

 

Steve makes a face, but doesn’t reply, and instead leads him inside. The meeting is taking place in an office, which is crowded with some of the most dangerous- and thankfully good- people in the world; Bucky Barnes stands by the door, ready to place a comforting hand on Steve’s arm, Natasha Romanoff sits at the table, and Sam Wilson leans against a wall.

 

Oh, and Deadpool is sitting on the table, cross-legged.

 

Peter’s stomach leaps in shock as the mercenary cocks his head, staring at Peter’s face.

 

“Peter, you know everyone except W-” Steve begins.

 

“- Deadpool, please, in front of… Peter, was it?” Deadpool interrupts, and his voice is amused.

 

Damn it, something else Deadpool knows about him. Peter raises his hand awkwardly, wondering what to say.

 

“Nice to meet you, Spidey,” Deadpool says softly.

 

“This is Deadpool,” Bucky informs Peter, his tone unimpressed. “He mostly just causes us trouble and refuses to help us, so I have no idea what has brought him here today, but here we are.”

 

“What has brought me here today is quite obvious,” Deadpool says, and although the mask makes it impossible to see his eyes, it is clear to everyone in the room that he is staring at Peter. Then he laughs. “Steve Rogers contacts me every time you guys get together to do some hero shit. I think it’s in the misguided hope that one day I’ll give up my obnoxiously dark nature and join in.”

 

“Clearly not so misguided,” Peter breathes. The idea of Deadpool doing something selfless is… not that hard to imagine. The man just needs some moral guidance. Peter could do that.

 

Deadpool merely shrugs.

 

“Anyway,” Steve says, firmly. “Here’s what we know. Tony went out to a meeting earlier this morning. We know he did because he told Pepper. However, the meeting has disappeared from his electronic schedule. He never returned, and he isn’t responding to any comms.”

 

“I can get in and find out who it was,” Natasha says. “Get ready to move, it won’t take me long.”

 

She moves to a computer console. Steve slaps Peter in a friendly way on the back.

 

“You don’t have to come in with us. You can just scout out ahead-” he begins.

 

“I’m not a child anymore, Captain Rogers,” Peter says firmly.

 

“Tell me about it,” Deadpool pipes up, earning himself a glare from everyone in the room, including Peter.

 

“I’ve got it,” Natasha announces. “He went for a meeting with Jacob Hanson, a local tech dealer. That’s not what’s interesting, though. The appointment was deleted from the schedule by a piece of malware with a distinctive signature that I’ve traced back to Antonio Pharaoh’s tech guys.”

 

Peter freezes.

 

“That mob guy?” Sam asks.

 

“The very same,” Natasha confirms.

 

Peter looks at Deadpool. Should they come clean about their recent tangle with Antonio Pharaoh? But Deadpool is already standing up, shrugging one shoulder in a casual manner.

 

“Let’s move then, Avengers,” he says brightly. “Better go save Stark before something awful happens- like his company shares dipping.”

 

Steve glares at Deadpool with open dislike. “Do you need to borrow some transportation?”

 

“No, thanks, Captain Angst, I’ll get there how I got here. Just send me the coordinates. I’ll even give this baby superhero a lift.”

 

“That’s not-” Bucky says, shaking his head, but Peter needs to speak to Deadpool alone.

 

“It’s fine, Mr Barnes, I’ll go with him.” He tries to give Bucky and Steve an expression which says something along the lines of ‘I’ll keep an eye on this ridiculous mercenary we have in our midst’ but he suspects it more just looks like he has a headache.

 

They head outside, Peter walking side-by-side with his most pressing irritation- and unfortunate crush- Deadpool. Deadpool towers over him, heavily armed and walking confidently. Peter slides the mask on as he sees the cab parked outside the front door.

 

“Really?” he asks.

 

They climb in and Dopinder gives him a smile before Deadpool reads the address Steve has sent him. Then, they set off, racing across the parking lot and out onto the main road.

 

Peter twists his hands, nervously, thinking about Tony. What if something happens to him because Peter got involved with him?

 

“You should have let me separate him from his head, baby boy,” Deadpool says, staring at him.

 

“Not helping,” Peter snaps. He pauses, takes a deep breath, and asks, “Deadpool, how did you get my phone number?”

 

He hears Deadpool exhale. “Pharaoh has software in Stark’s systems. Presumably, he lifted it straight from there.”

 

“But no other information about me? Or the other Avengers?”

 

“Most of the other Avengers aren’t quite as committed to their secret identities as you are.” Deadpool chuckles to himself. “That said, you can hardly keep that mask on around me.”

 

“Deadpool-” Peter seethes.

 

Deadpool raises a placating hand. “No. No other information.”

 

“But you knew he had software in Stark’s systems,” Peter growls.

 

“Look, argue with me later all you want. In fact, I’d rather like to see what you look like when you are properly furious. Feel free to web me to my bed and do unspeakable things to me in anger…” Deadpool’s voice has taken on a dreamy quality.

 

“Deadpool, shut up,” Peter snaps, blushing beneath his mask, trying not to picture that exact scenario.

 

Deadpool leans close, whispering so that Dopinder doesn’t hear. “Anything for you,  _ Peter. _ ”

 

Thankfully the car slides to a stop, saving Peter from having to murder or make out with the irritating merc who has now made his skin erupt in goosebumps yet again. They have arrived at a large warehouse, Natasha’s voice in his earpiece informing him that this is a property owned by Pharaoh and a very likely place for Tony to be.

 

There are no guards on the doors, but there are cameras, and Peter nudges Deadpool as they climb out of the car, pointing at them silently. Deadpool waves at them jauntily.

 

“Haven’t you heard of stealth?” Peter asks him, smiling despite himself. He has a vague moment of realisation that, if not for Deadpool’s irritating presence, he would have managed to tie himself up in an angsty knot about Tony.

 

“In the same way as I’ve heard of gonorrhea, baby. I know of it, but really want nothing to do with it.”

 

“You’re disgusting.”

 

“Bite me, Petey.” Deadpool cocks his head. “You take the skylight up there,” he says, pointing. “I’m going in the front door.”

 

“Shouldn’t we wait for everyone else?” Peter asks.

 

“This is why I never work with others. I lack patience. They’ll turn up. We need to get Tony Stark, right?”

 

Peter nods numbly.

 

“Classic cliche,” Deadpool continues, almost to himself. “Daddy issues for our young hero.”

 

“What?” Peter asks.

 

Deadpool has his guns in his hands. “Never mind. Just get in around the back while I make a distraction, okay?”

 

Peter shoots web up at an aerial sticking out the wall near the skylight. “No killing,” he warns Deadpool.

 

Deadpool pauses. “Really?”

 

Peter nods, not moving.

 

“You know my price,” Deadpool warns. “One kiss.”

 

Peter has given up pretending he isn’t okay with this suggestion. “Agreed,” he says, and begins the easy climb up. Halfway up, he sees Deadpool replace his guns with his katanas. How this is less likely to cause death is a mystery to Peter, but he decides to trust the least trustworthy man he knows.

 

At skylight opens easily beneath his sticky fingers, and Peter stares into the large warehouse. There are many, many armed guards here. Pharaoh is nowhere to be seen, but Tony is tied to a chair, out cold, in the middle of the place.

 

The doors burst open and there is Deadpool, looking glorious. “Evening, boys,” he says.

 

The guns go off, ripping into his torso. Peter winces, horrified, but Deadpool looks down, almost thoughtfully, at the wounds.

 

“Is that any way to greet an old colleague?” he asks. “I also used to work for Pharaoh, but then I found out he’s a scummy piece of shit…”

 

The other men are rushing forward now, leaving Tony unguarded, as the entire squad of armed guards opens fire on Deadpool.

 

Peter drops down silently, rolling to his feet and inching over to Tony. He gropes for a pulse and finds one, but when he shakes Tony’s shoulders, nothing happens. Exhaling, he moves his fingers to the complicated-looking metal shackles at Tony’s wrists.

 

As soon as he touches the metal, he hears a click from within the chair itself.

 

A hidden door opens behind him. He spins around, horrified, and sees Pharaoh there, pointing a sizeable revolver at Peter. A nasty grin twists his face.

 

“It’s wired to go off,” he sneers. “Don’t fucking try to shoot me with that shit, boy, or he’ll die.”

 

Peter is vaguely aware of the sounds of screaming behind him. He can hear the tear of blade through flesh, even as bullets still sound, and he hopes that Deadpool is keeping to his own promise of not killing anyone.

 

“I’m listening,” Peter says, keeping his voice calm despite the dawning horror within him. “What do you want?”

 

“You’re going to come with me,” Pharaoh snarls. “I want-”

 

What he wants is never made clear, as it is at that moment that the rest of the team finally arrives, coming in behind Deadpool and helping him take out the remaining guards. Pharaoh growls, distracted, and turns to look, giving Peter time to web the gun clean out of his hands and down to the floor.

 

“You fucking fool,” Pharaoh snaps at him, “you’ve killed Tony Stark.”

 

Peter turns back to Tony, who is stirring now. The ticking in the chair is getting louder.

 

When he turns back to Pharaoh, he is gone.

 

“Peter!”

 

He hears Steve’s voice, but it sounds distant as he falls to his knees before Tony’s chair, fingering furiously at the bonds, trying to find the bomb.

 

“It’s a bomb,” he hears himself saying. “It’s a bomb, and I can’t get him out, and it’s my fault-”

 

“Pull him,” Bucky says, distantly. “We’re some of the strongest people on the planet, we can pull him out-”

 

“It’s still a bomb!” Natasha replies.

 

“We have to get him out of here,” Sam says.

 

“Avengers,” Deadpool booms, and his voice cuts through Peter’s horror, making him look up from the form of his mentor. “One thing at a time. Like all dangerous situations, what this needs is some lubrication.”

 

“Fuck you-” Natasha snarls.

 

“I’m being serious,” Deadpool replies, and he rummages in his utility belt, producing a small bottle. He kneels beside Peter, and surprises him immensely by not making a single inappropriate comment as he pours lubricant all over Tony’s wrists. “Give him a tug, there, Cap,” he says, voice thick with amusement.

 

Steve pulls Tony, and to the general amazement of everyone in the room, the unconscious man comes loose in his arms.

 

“What about the bomb?” Sam asks.

 

“It’s in the cuff itself,” Deadpool says, running a gloved finger along it. “Seems to me it’s probably going to be okay so long as we can contain the explosion.”

 

There is an awkward silence.

 

“Deadpool-” Steve begins, still clutching Tony.

 

“Oh, please, Cap, we all knew that today was going to end with me getting my mouth around a weapon of some description.”

 

“Hang on- what?” Peter asks, turning to Deadpool in horror.

 

Deadpool places his hand on Peter’s arm. It is an affectionate gesture. “This isn’t the first time, Peter. Don’t worry about it.”

 

“We need to get out of here,” Bucky says, reaching down to take Peter’s other arm, apparently sensing that their young Spider-Man is going to be reluctant to leave Deadpool to choke on an exploding bomb.

 

“You can’t be serious,” Peter says, numbly, looking around at them.

 

“Get him out of here,” Steve tells Bucky, turning for the exit with Tony. Sam and Natasha also begin to move out at speed.

 

“Peter, pal, come on,” Bucky tries. “Deadpool will be fine. He can’t die. Tell him, Deadpool.”

 

Deadpool shrugs. “It’ll hurt like a bitch, but deepthroating something this impressive always has drawbacks, baby.” He leans close, pantomiming a dramatic embrace for Bucky’s benefit, but presses his mouth against Peter’s ear. “Come see me tomorrow,” he whispers.

 

Bucky hauls him to his feet, using his metal arm for easiness, and Peter turns around as he gets dragged towards the door, trying to catch a glimpse of Deadpool lifting the mask to perform the grisly task the Avengers have set him. He doesn’t manage it, and, as the door closes, the ground shakes as the bomb explodes.

 

* * *

“You don’t even  _ like _ him!” Peter thunders, hands on his waist. It is several hours later, and he is showered and dressed in a jumper and jeans Steve lent him- they are, therefore, much too big. “So how can you ask him to do something so bloody awful for you?”

 

Steve looks guiltily down at Tony, who is lying in the bed between them, barely alive after the dosage of the drug someone injected him with.

 

Bucky, who is standing by Steve with his hand on the Captain’s shoulder, is far less guilty. He shrugs. “Look, Peter, he’ll be fine. He does this sort of thing all the time. I actually suspect he  _ likes _ it.”

 

“It wasn’t for us,” Steve adds, gently. “It was for the city.”

 

“I think he’s a lot better than you give him credit for-” Peter begins, but Steve silences him with a raised hand.

 

“Please, Peter, don’t start developing some sort of attachment to Deadpool. He doesn’t want to be part of us. He is a disaster.”

 

If only Steve knew the depth of his attachment to Deadpool. Peter laughs humorlessly. His eyes are bright with unspilled tears, and he is tired. “Sure, because none of us are disasters.”

 

“I think we need to think about this Pharaoh,” Bucky says. “He’s obviously decided to get revenge on you, Peter. Perhaps you shouldn’t go home until we catch him- just to be safe.”

 

“He doesn’t know where I live,” Peter snaps. “Nobody knows who I really am.”

 

“Still…” Steve sighs, looking at Peter with a fatherly expression. “Maybe stay here. Just to be safe.”

 

“I have somewhere I can go,” Peter says thickly. He suddenly needs to be away from here. “Somewhere that isn’t home. I’ll go there.”


	6. Larger than Life

It’s almost midnight by the time that Peter shimmies his way in through Deadpool’s apartment window.

 

He has been home to grab his bag and a change of clothes. He dumps said bag by the sofa and goes into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water, which he drinks quickly.

 

Why did he come here? He isn’t sure, but he could probably guess, and it’s probably something to do with the way his heart stutters when he thinks of the mercenary. He leans against Deadpool’s counter, sipping water and trying to clear his brain. He is still furious at Steve for leaving the mercenary to literally swallow an exploding bomb.

 

However, this is all adding useful fodder to his growing belief that Deadpool is actually a lot better than anyone believes- even Deadpool himself.

 

He pulls out both phones and looks at the Spider-Man one first, hoping to have a message from Deadpool. He remembers that he never responded to Deadpool’s jab about him drinking during the day.

 

He has a new message from the merc, a single word sent fifteen minutes ago:  _ Ouch. _

 

He almost smiles as he types a message back:  _ Do you need anything? I can come and get you. _

 

The response is almost instantaneous:  _ I don’t want you seeing me like this, baby. Just get some sleep and come to my apartment as early as you can tomorrow. _

 

Peter hesitates, then types a response:  _ Take care x _

 

Was the kiss a bad idea? He is blushing now, but the message is sent, and he puts the phone back in his bag before taking the other phone.

 

A message from Wade several hours ago:  _ Hope you get everything sorted. It was nice meeting you! I’ll see you soon. _

 

Then another, one which must have been sent at almost the exact moment Peter was being hauled away from Deadpool by Bucky:  _ You have beautiful eyes. _

 

Peter’s blush continues. Part of him- a big part- tells him that it’s wrong to be messaging two men at the same time, but he likes them both. He has hardly made any promises to anyone. It’s still a mystery to him how Deadpool actually feels about him, although it is quite clear that the mercenary likes messing with him.

 

He types a reply to Wade:  _ Sorry for the late reply. It’s been a bad day! I’ll call you tomorrow and we can plan something. _

 

Surprisingly, Wade replies straight away:  _ A bad day? Do you need to talk? _

 

Peter hesitates. Is there a way to talk about this? How can he explain it without giving away his secret? But his fingers are automatic, pressing the call button and lifting the phone to his ear.

 

“Peter?” Wade’s voice asks. It sounds pained, as if he has been sleeping.

 

“Wade, did I wake you? God, I’m sorry, I can just-”

 

Wade gives a dramatic and anguished yell, then sighs. “No, no. Just been… doing some yoga. This old body needs some recovery time, you know. I feel like I’ve been torn apart,” he adds cheerfully.

 

“Are you okay?” Peter asks.

 

“I’m good. How are you? Why was your day bad?”

 

Peter hesitates. “Something bad happened to someone I care about,” he says, honestly.

 

He hears Wade exhale sharply. “Are they… are they going to be okay?” he asks.

 

“I mean, I think so,” Peter replies, closing his eyes. “My friends just let it happen. They didn’t even try to think of an alternative.” There is bitterness in his voice.

 

Wade clicks his tongue. “Maybe there wasn’t time, baby. It wasn’t necessarily malicious.”

 

“I guess… I just…” Peter surprises them both by starting to cry.

 

“Hey,” Wade soothes. “Hey, don’t cry, Peter.”

 

The words are familiar, but Peter is too worked up to place them. He sniffles. “I’m sorry, Wade, it’s just been…”

 

“I know,” Wade says gently. “Are you safely at home?”

 

“I’m at… a friend’s,” Peter replies.

 

Wade doesn’t reply for a moment. It sounds like he takes a deep breath. “Get some sleep, Peter, okay? I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”

 

“Thanks. Thanks, I will.” Peter sniffs. “Wade, I’m glad I know you.”

 

“Peter, I’m glad I know you, too. Goodnight.”

 

Peter puts that phone with the other and goes to the sofa where he slept last time. He doesn’t remember it being uncomfortable, but his body is demanding more. He follows his feet to the door to Deadpool’s bedroom and opens it to reveal utter chaos.

 

Unsurprisingly, Deadpool is not good at housework.

 

Clothes litter the floor, as do open crates of weapons. Peter smiles to himself in reluctant fondness as he kicks off his shoes and the jumper which Steve gave him, and he climbs beneath the quilt of Deadpool’s bed.

 

The fabric smells of Deadpool; it is masculine, sort of sweaty with a hint of aftershave. It should probably be unpleasant.

 

It isn’t.

 

* * *

 

When Peter wakes up, the sun is shining in the bedroom window, and the Backstreet Boys are blaring in the kitchen.

 

He sits up, his senses telling him that there is nothing to fear, but his brain unable to catch up with that. His muscles are tensed for a fight when the bedroom door swings open to reveal Deadpool holding a cup of coffee.

 

“Holy shit,” Deadpool says, staring at Peter’s naked torso. “There was me thinking I couldn’t die, but look at me now- in heaven, staring at Spider-Man’s naked body.”

 

Peter throws a pillow at him, which he dodges easily, laughing.

 

“How are you feeling?” Peter asks.

 

“Dreadful. Godawful. The usual,” Deadpool replies cheerfully, crossing to Peter and handing him the mug before sitting down beside him.

 

There is something very intimate about this, something which Peter didn’t think about before he got himself into this position.

 

“I’m sorry,” Peter says to Deadpool, whose face is now very close to his own. “I didn’t want to leave you-”

 

Deadpool surprises him by taking his hand gently. His fingers are warm through the fabric of his suit. “Spidey, don’t worry your pretty little face about it. You would have been badly injured- maybe even killed- if you stayed.” He cocks his head, and Peter knows he is grinning beneath the mask. “However, it is nice to know how much you care.”

 

Peter feels blood rush to his face. Deadpool’s head travels lower, tracking the blush down Peter’s neck and chest.

 

“Of course I care,” Peter says, in a choked voice. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

 

“Are we?” Deadpool sounds amused. “I suppose that would explain why you broke into my apartment.”

 

“It’s hardly breaking in when you refuse to ever close your windows.”

 

“In my defense, I live twenty stories up in the air. Any man acrobatic enough to get up here via the window is welcome, if you know what I mean.”

 

Peter ignores him, taking a drink from the mug. He cringes at what has to be the worst cup of coffee he has consumed in a while.

 

“Peter, that’s rude,” Deadpool admonishes.

 

Peter flinches at hearing his real name come from the merc, but he doesn’t say anything. He just needs to ensure that Deadpool doesn’t find out anything else about him.

 

“How was the… getting better? You know, after you put that bomb in your mouth?”

 

“Baby, don’t start talking dirty while you’re sat topless in my bed. I might not be able to die, but I can spontaneously combust.”

 

“Deadpool.”

 

“It was fucking horrible. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

 

“The truth.”

 

Deadpool pauses, then he pushes his sleeve up. His skin is a mess of pink scarring, lumps and dents crisscrossing the surface. “I’m like this all over,” he says quietly. “It hurts, most of the time. When it knits itself back together… it really hurts.”

 

Peter feels a heartbreaking rush of sympathy for the older man. “How did it happen?”

 

“I told you. Depends on which origin story we’re using. It hardly matters, does it?”

 

“You matter,” Peter says gently. He squeezes Deadpool’s fingers. “You matter to me.”

 

Deadpool exhales shakily. Peter wonders when somebody last said those words to him. “You owe me one kiss, if I recall correctly,” he tells Peter.

 

“Deadpool, are you serious? Those guys died!”

 

“I didn’t kill them!”

 

“You chopped their legs off! They couldn’t run away from the bomb.”

 

Deadpool shrugs. “That wasn’t my fault, baby. I stuck to my end of the bargain.”

 

Peter gives in, not least because he really,  _ really _ wants to be kissed by Deadpool again. “One kiss.”

 

“Close your eyes,” Deadpool murmurs, taking the coffee mug from him and placing it on the cluttered bedside table.

 

Peter wants to protest, but he can’t bring himself to do so. He closes his eyes, very aware of how dry his mouth is. He hears the mask being pushed up, then feels gloved fingers on his cheek. They linger there for a second before around to rest at the back of Peter’s neck. Deadpool’s mouth presses against his, surprisingly gentle. It is Peter who deepens the kiss, reaching up around the back of the mask to pull the mercenary closer. Their chests are flush against each other, and Peter Parker can feel very clearly how absolutely solid Deadpool is.

 

“Fuck-” Deadpool grinds out, and then Peter is lying down against the pillows again, arms around Deadpool, who is straddling his waist and kissing him passionately, with bruising intensity.

 

Peter is hard, and judging by the impressive bulge pressing through the spandex Deadpool wears, so is the mercenary.

 

Slowly, Peter lowers one hand down Deadpool’s back, dragging his fingers indulgently across the lovely curve of his ass before dipping below his waist and brushing over that solid length.

 

“Shit, Spidey,” Deadpool hisses into his mouth.

 

The words startle Peter back to reality. He  _ can’t _ do this. He really, really wants to.

 

But- let’s face it- he’s confused. He’s confused about Deadpool, and about Wade.

 

And he doesn’t want his first time to be in these complicated circumstances.

 

“Wait, please,” he mumbles into Deadpool’s mouth.

 

Deadpool freezes at the words.

 

“Look,” Peter manages to say, still squeezing his eyes closed, “I really care about you, and we are friends if nothing else. But I just… there’s someone else.”

 

Deadpool climbs off him, and he hears the mask being rolled down. It almost sounds like Deadpool laughs for a moment, but that would be a weird reaction, so Peter wonders if he’s imagining it.

 

He opens his eyes to look at the mercenary, who is sitting beside him again, head cocked.

 

“Someone else?” Deadpool asks, in a strangled tone. “Who?”

 

Peter runs a hand through his hair. It feels wrong, somehow, to talk about Wade with Deadpool, wrong to talk about one man he has feelings for with the other object of his affections. “He's called Wade,” he says finally. “He's nice. You'd like him.”

 

Deadpool makes a small humming noise. “And do you like this  _ Wade _ more than you like me?”

 

Peter shakes his head, feeling guilty. “It's not like that.” He is struggling to articulate this. “I like both of you. I know that's selfish, and I do feel bad about it. Just give me some time, Deadpool.”

 

Deadpool reaches for him. “Peter-” he says, and his voice is unusually thick with emotion.

 

Peter slides away from his gloved fingers, standing up and feeling glad he left Steve's jeans on last night. “I'm going to go home,” he says. “I'll call you later, ok?”

 

Deadpool is nodding, uncharacteristically quiet.

 

Peter pulls the jumper on and grabs the bag, and, for the first time, leaves Deadpool's apartment via the front door.

 


	7. Dead Inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel me now, hold me please  
> I need you to see who I am  
> Open up to me, stop hiding from me  
> It's hurting babe
> 
> Dead Inside- Muse

_Pain. The splitting, horrific pain of having a bullet pass through the brain never gets any easier. One minute, Wade is looking at his new best friend, and supremely hot superhero, Spider-Man, and the next he's on the floor in agony._

 

_When he comes to, there is the sound of gentle crying. He blinks behind his mask, and what he sees makes him wonder if actually he has finally died._

 

_An angel._

 

_Soft brown hair is a halo around a beautiful, innocent face. Big doe eyes are full of tears._

 

_It's Spider-Man. Spider-Man is a young, gorgeous man._

 

_Wade is hardly regarded as measured and reasonable in his reactions, and in this moment, he falls in love._

 

[In love? You think you're in love with him?]

 

Wade sighs. He's sat on his roof, about twenty minutes after Peter departed. It's snowing, but the fresh, crisp air is pleasant in Wade's recently healed lungs. He has changed into jeans and a hoodie. He is remembering the first time he saw Peter’s face.

 

{Good job cock-blocking yourself, dickhead.}

 

Wade shakes his head. He has done an awful lot of very weird shit in his life, but his alter ego has never been unable to get laid because the object of his affections was in love with his real identity.

 

[You think he’s in love with you? Fucking hell, you’re an idiot today.]

 

He should tell Peter the truth. He is increasingly concerned that this little game he’s playing is going to end badly. It has been- and to be honest, it continues to be- funny. It’s nice, too. Peter is more open with Wade, more honest about his feelings and just generally more _human_.

 

The snow is coming down harder now. Wade thinks of how it would look clinging to Peter’s hair, how his cheeks would look flushed with cold. He doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone who blushes as much as Peter does.

 

His phone rings. He looks down at it, and it’s Peter calling Wade.

 

“Hey, baby,” he answers, happy despite himself. “Feeling better today?”

 

“A bit.” Peter’s voice is fretful over the line. “How are you?”

 

“I’m fine, thanks. Just enjoying some fresh air. What are you doing?”

 

“I just got home. I’ve got a shift at the coffee shop soon. I’m going out for my friend’s birthday this evening. I was thinking I might go Christmas shopping first.” This is _exactly_ what Wade means when he thinks that Peter is more open with Wade than with Deadpool. He’s just babbling his plans in a totally normal way, not in that guarded way he does when he’s trying- in vain- to protect his secret identity.

 

“Do you like Christmas?”

 

“I love Christmas,” Peter says, with that innocent enthusiasm Wade loves about him. “Everyone is so nice and happy.”

 

Wade smiles to himself. “Lots of jolly men in red suits.”

 

Peter makes a small choking noise, then laughs awkwardly. “I’m too old to believe in Santa, old man.”

 

Wade chuckles. “How’s your friend today?”

 

“He’s back to his old self,” Peter replies, and there is nothing positive about his tone. He clears his throat. “Wade, do you want to come over for dinner tomorrow night?”

 

He’s invited to Peter’s home. Wade feels a rush of happiness. “Yes, I’d love to, baby.”

 

Peter gives him the address in a casual manner, and for the first time, Wade worries that perhaps Peter should be more careful when there’s a man out for his blood.

 

“I promise that I won’t run out on you again,” Peter adds, with a nervous laugh.

 

“I look forward to it,” Wade says honestly.

 

“I’d better go get ready for work. Talk later!”

 

“Have a nice day, baby.”

 

Wade sits holding his phone for a while after getting off the phone. He has a creeping sense of guilt.

 

If he tells Peter the truth, Peter will be angry with him. Perhaps so angry that he never speaks to him again. That idea is so awful that Wade feels his eyes grow wet when he considers it. Perhaps the best course of action is to wait for Peter to figure it out naturally, then suggest he was simply keeping the two aspects of himself separate to protect his real identity. Not that he has ever really done that. But Peter doesn’t seem to know that.

 

It’s not like Peter Parker has told Wade he is Spider-Man. It’s not like Spider-Man has told Deadpool he is Peter Parker.

 

He thinks that Peter would find it easy to forgive Deadpool for being Wade; after all, Wade is friendly and funny, the best part of the mercenary Peter has expressed concerns about. He doesn’t think, however, that Peter could forgive Wade for being Deadpool: the murdering, brutal mercenary would spoil the gentle, kind man Wade has been to Peter.

 

[Are you jealous of yourself?]

 

{Definitely.}

 

Wade stands up abruptly, needing to be busy doing something. He takes one last, deep lungful of the bitingly cold air and heads back inside, down the stairs to the corridor his apartment is on. Maybe he will clean his guns. Maybe he will go find a criminal to kill.

 

Not kill. Maim. He thinks of Peter.

 

His apartment door stands ajar.

 

Someone is in there.

 

He wasn’t expecting to find a fight on the roof, but he rarely goes anywhere without a weapon, and so he pulls a long knife from beneath his hoodie before he opens his door, tensed for a physical confrontation which never comes.

 

The man in his apartment is leaning against the kitchen bench, muscular arms folded. Even though it is snowing, he only wears a thin t-shirt and jeans, the garments hugging his ridiculously ripped physique. His hair is perfectly coiffed, and he is stroking his beard thoughtfully.

 

It’s Steve Rogers, the beautiful bastard.

 

“Cap!” Wade exclaims. “Come to thank me for getting my mouth around that bomb last night? Truly, no thanks are necessary, but it’s very sweet of you to pop by.” He has lowered the knife but not put it down.

 

Steve Rogers looks at him with an unreadable expression. He doesn’t _like_ Wade very much, and that’s never been a secret. The two men live their lives by hugely different codes. Wade always thinks- perhaps unfairly- that, although they have both been touched by tragedy, life has blossomed around Steve in his favour, whereas around Wade, it has tried to strangle him, to snuff any light out. Standing next to him, Wade feels like a disgusting, immoral troll.

 

“We need to talk,” Steve says slowly. “Do you want to put the knife down, Wade?”

 

His tone is irritating. It is condescending. Wade almost says no, enamoured for a moment with the idea of getting into a good fight with Captain America.

 

Then he thinks of Peter, and puts the knife down on the bench, raising his hands to show that he doesn’t have any other weapons. Steve doesn’t have to know that there are currently four other knives on his person.

 

“Thank you,” Steve says, still in that condescending tone. “It’s about Peter.”

 

[Fuck.]

 

{Fuck.}

 

Fuck. Wade feigns ignorance, cocking his head thoughtfully at Captain America.

 

“I don’t know the details, and I think I’d rather you didn’t tell me. It was very obvious yesterday that you two have met before.” Steve looks profoundly uncomfortable now. “He is just a _child_ , Wade.”

 

“He isn’t a child,” Wade snaps, suddenly feeling defensive of Peter. “Don’t underestimate him like that.”

 

“He doesn’t know what you’re like,” Steve continues, as though Wade hasn’t spoken. “And he’s reckless enough already. We don’t think it’s a good idea-”

 

“ _W_ _e_?” Wade repeats, interrupting him. “You and the Avengers? You know I’ve never given a shit about what you guys think, Cap.”

 

“No. But Peter does.”

 

Wade stiffens at that. It’s true. He’s been so busy worrying that Peter will be angry when he finds out that Deadpool and Wade Wilson are actually the same ugly asshole that he hasn’t thought of this simple truth: Peter Parker would face a lot of (justified) criticism for being involved with him.

 

“Look,” Steve continues, now in a gently cajoling voice, “you can’t die. But he can. He’s already in danger.”

 

“I want to protect him,” Wade snaps, automatically, and realises too late that he’s all but confessed.

 

Steve smiles sadly. “So it’s as I thought. Wade, please, just leave him alone.”

 

Wade feels anger rising. He fights the urge to reach for a knife. “What about you and Bucky Barnes?”

 

Steve goes pink, but doesn’t deny it. “That isn’t like this.”

 

“Isn’t it?” Wade’s fingernails are pressing so tightly into his palms that he can feel blood trickling across his hands.

 

“Would _you_ want Peter dating Deadpool if you were in my position?” Steve asks.

 

Honestly- no. No, of course not.

 

{You’ll only hurt him.}

 

“It isn’t anything personal,” Steve says, gently. “What you did yesterday showed me that you can be good when you want to be. But Peter is just a kid. And he’s my responsibility.”

 

Wade is torn. Steve must be able to read it on his face, because he rests a hand softly on Wade’s arm.

 

He adores Peter. He can’t give that up, even if he should.

 

He’s always been a selfish bastard.

 

“Fine,” he says, quietly. “I promise Deadpool won’t date Peter.” _But Wade will._

 

Steve pats his arm. “I’ll let you get on,” he says. He moves towards the door and pauses, looking back. “Wade. Thank you for what you did yesterday.”

 

Wade doesn’t reply. He watches Steve Rogers close the door behind him. He is trembling, and his head hurts.

 

{He’s right, you know.}

 

“Almost certainly,” Wade mutters, bitterly.

 

At least if he stops seeing Peter as Deadpool, Peter will be less confused about the two men he believes he’s involved with.

 

The right thing to do would be to not go after Peter at all. Steve Rogers might be self-righteous, but he isn’t bad, and he isn’t wrong. Someone like Peter is pure and innocent. Wade doesn’t agree that Peter is a child, and he’s getting fairly sick of the Avengers treating him like one, but they are right on one thing: getting involved with Deadpool isn’t going to do the kid any favours.

 

Wade will try to do right by him. That’s the best he can do.

 

He knows Peter has feelings for him. He also suspects that Peter would be gloriously furious with Steve Rogers if he knew about the conversation which just took place.

 

Wade needs a drink.

 

He waits for a few moments, wanting to be sure that he isn’t going to come across Captain Asshole on the stairs, unsure if he will be able to resist the urge to stab him. Then he sets off, heading down into the street.

 

The snow is growing thicker. The air has a silvery quality to it. It’s beautiful.

 

He walks towards Sister Margaret’s with his hands shoved into his pockets, aware that if he makes a slight detour, he will walk past The Coffee Spot, where Peter works. Peter might be there now. He could go and say hello.

 

No. He needs to give Peter some space.

 

He also rather suspects that if he spoke to Peter now, the whole, ugly truth would come spilling out.

 

But he is too weak to resist temptation entirely, and he follows his feet towards the coffee shop, stopping on the pavement opposite.

 

Peter is indeed there, visible through the steamy glass. His hair is sticking up in a delightful fashion, and he is at the till, talking to an old female customer. His mouth is turned up in a bright smile.

 

He is perfect.

 

Wade wants him.

 

He forces himself to move away, to go to his original destination.

 

Weasel is alone when he arrives; it’s still early in the day, and Weasel is clearly preparing for the Saturday night rush, looking at a smeared glass thoughtfully but making no move to wipe the fucking thing.

 

“What are you doing here?” Weasel asks. “It’s not even midday. I’m not even sure I’m open.”

 

“Give me something strong,” Wade says, sitting down at the bar.

 

Weasel raises his eyebrow. “You want a Captain America or a Hulk cocktail?”

 

Wade sighs. “I love you, but I swear to God, if you mention Steve Rogers again, I will separate your testicles from your body without hesitation.”

 

Weasel pours half a tumbler of rum and passes it to him. “Dare I ask?”

 

“Go ahead.”

 

“What’s wrong with you now? And what has Captain Fucking America done to piss you off? You’re about the only man I’ve ever come across who pulls that face when he gets mentioned.”

 

Wade knows he is grimacing. “I’m in love.”

 

“With Steve Rogers? Everyone knows he’s fucking the Winter Scowler, my man. And they both look like models; they’re hardly going to be looking to invite a man who looks like a condom filled with melted wax into their relationship.”

 

Wade downs the rum and wishes for possibly the millionth time that he could get drunk. “Not with Captain America, although I agree that that’s the sort of zany shenanigan one would expect from me. With Peter Parker.”

 

“Who the fuck is Peter Parker?”

 

Wade hesitates. “I can’t say. He’s an Avenger.”

 

“It’s fucking Spider-Man, isn’t it?”

 

Wade cocks his head, reluctantly impressed at the same time as he is horrified that someone like Weasel so easily worked out the link between Spider-Man and Peter Parker. “How did you…?”

 

“Let’s be honest, the rest of the Avengers are not exactly dedicated to keeping their real identities secret.” Weasel pours another glass of rum and pushes it to Wade. “And you know I have a lot of intel the average person doesn’t, anyway. Besides, I’ve seen photographs of Spider-Man in the Bugle. I know he’s just your type.”

 

Wade scowls, but downs the rum. “Fine. Yes. Tell anyone and I’ll kill you.”

 

Weasel nods. “Of course.”

 

“Anyway,” Wade continues, suddenly glad to get all this off his chest, “I was paid to kill him but I fell in love with him instead.”

 

“That’s not as romantic as you think it sounds, you know.”

 

“Anyway. He doesn’t know I’m Deadpool. But I’ve met him as both Wade and Deadpool.” Wade frowns. This is quite complicated to explain. “He likes both. But I’m worried that now I can’t tell him the truth.”

 

“You probably shouldn’t. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that honesty is a fucking dreadful thing in relationships. People always say they want it, but they don’t, not really.”

 

“Steve Rogers came to warn me off him.”

 

Weasel nods. “Fair enough. I’d warn you off anyone I cared about.”

 

Wade sighs. “I mean, I would, too. Anyway, how do I make Peter Parker fall in love with Wade Wilson?”

 

“So you’re going to absolutely ignore Steve Rogers?”

 

“No. I’m not going to see Peter anymore as Deadpool. But as Wade…”

 

Weasel frowns. “I think you’ve chosen badly. Deadpool is a cool mercenary with a hot body. Wade Wilson is a disfigured freak.”

 

“But I am _both_ of those things,” Wade says, and he struggles with the concept for a moment. “I want him to love both of them.”

 

“You need to woo him,” Weasel grins. “Flowers, chocolates, all that bullshit. Anything to take the focus off your face, if I’m being honest.”

 

“Fuck you. And thanks.” Wade hesitates. “Do you think I should just… not? Is Steve Rogers right?”

 

Weasel hesitates, then reaches out to touch Wade’s shoulder. “Are you a dreadful influence and a generally dangerous human? Of course. Does that mean that you’re incapable of loving someone fully and making their life better? No, of course it doesn’t. You wouldn’t be a lot of people’s cup of tea, but it doesn’t fucking matter if you’re perfect for one person.” His mouth twitches. “It probably would help if they were very short-sighted, but otherwise, fuck Steve Rogers and his very logical argument.”

 

Wade smiles.

 

“God, I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Weasel sighs. “It’s horrifying.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the kudos, comments and whatnot. It means the world and keeps me going.


	8. Wait

“Peter! Are you home?”

 

Peter is still wriggling into his tight new jeans when he hears the familiar voice through the letterbox. Outside, it is dark, a cold and snowy night. He glances out of his bedroom window before heading to the front door.

 

He opens it to reveal MJ and Ned, both of whom are wrapped up tightly and clutching bottles of beer. They are both smiling.

 

“Happy birthday, Ned!” Peter grins. He throws his arms around his friend, embracing him fondly. Ned is one of the only people in the world who knows that he is also Spider-Man.

 

“Nice jeans, Parker,” MJ says. “I’m surprised you can walk.”

 

“You on the pull or something?” Ned asks, and laughs.

 

MJ and Peter exchange a glance.

 

“You are? I want details, Peter!” Ned exclaims, shocked, giving Peter a playful shove.

 

The three of them collapse onto Peter’s sofa. The room is still full of unpacked boxes, but he has thrown up a Christmas tree this afternoon, and the room is illuminated by the golden glow of the lights. The speaker on the kitchen bench is playing M83.

 

“I met someone on Tinder,” Peter says softly. “His name is Wade.”

 

“How was your date with him?” MJ asks, using a bottle opener on her keys to open three bottles of beer and passing them along.

 

Peter frowns. He thinks of the way he had to abandon poor Wade, and how sweet he has been since. “It was great. Really good. I like him.” He is blushing.

 

If only he could tell his friends about Deadpool. He needs some serious advice about how to get out of this pickle. Who would have imagined that, in the same week, Peter Parker would develop feelings for two men?

 

“Is he joining us tonight? Is that what the jeans are for?” Ned asks, swigging beer.

 

“No,” Peter says, trying for a moment to imagine Wade in Infinity, the club they are heading to. “He’s a bit older than we are. I’m just trying to stretch them a bit before he comes over here tomorrow for some food.”

 

“He’s coming here?” Ned asks. “Are you going to finally get laid, Peter?”

 

MJ shoves Ned.

 

Peter is blushing furiously now, his cheeks burning, imagining it. It is easy to picture coming apart beneath Wade’s huge body. He can also remember how it felt to be trapped beneath Deadpool’s huge body, the taste of his mouth.

 

He is very confused.

 

They get quite pleasantly drunk snuggled up on the sofa, laughing and gossiping. Finally, as it approaches ten, it is time to walk along to the club.

 

Peter goes into his bedroom to check that he looks okay in the mirror. His hair is neat for once, and he is wearing a tight black shirt with the jeans. For one tortured moment, he imagines red-and-black gloved fingers tracing the front of his shirt, but he shakes the image away.

 

The Spider-Man phone is on his bedside table. He checks it, but there are no messages. Maybe Deadpool has decided that he doesn’t want to be involved with a man who is confused about his own feelings. That would be fair. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

 

He checks his own phone, tucked snugly into the back pocket of his jeans. He has a message from Wade, about thirty minutes ago:  _ Have a nice night, Peter. Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow! _

 

Emboldened by alcohol, Peter snaps a selfie of himself grinning and sends it to Wade.

 

He pulls on boots and a heavy coat then returns to his friends. The three of them take a deep breath then head out, going down the chilly stairwell and emerging into the frozen street. The snow is deep now, the air stinging.

 

The atmosphere is festive; they pass other groups of drunken revellers in the street. They walk arm-in-arm, a ridiculous threesome with Peter in the middle. He feels happy, despite the fact that his heart is confused.

 

It is when the turn into the street with Infinity on it that things go badly wrong.

 

It is just a feeling Peter has, his senses alerting him to be on edge, cutting through the pleasant haze of his drunkenness. He freezes, and both MJ and Ned stop, looking at him curiously.

 

“Parker, what the hell?” MJ asks.

 

“There’s something… wrong,” Peter says firmly, and he says it to Ned, giving him a serious look.

 

Ned nods, understanding, and releases Peter. He even puts an arm around MJ, making her go still. “Let’s head back to yours,” Ned says quietly to her, with a firmness he rarely displays.

 

MJ looks confused, but when she looks at Peter and receives a pleading look from him, she nods, and they turn away.

 

Every hair on Peter’s body is standing on end. He didn’t bring his suit, of course, but his senses are heightened and he moves quickly regardless, following his instincts into the club. The bouncer sees him as just another drunken customer and doesn’t look twice as Peter pushes in.

 

It is heaving inside, the entire club packed with people, gyrating to the music.

 

Peter is very aware that there are going to be a lot of lives lost if his senses are correct.

 

He tries to yell over the music, tries to tell people to leave, but it is impossible to be heard. He gives up and follows the twitchy, nervous instincts that guide him into the men’s bathroom. It is quiet and dark in here.

 

He pauses, listening intently, and then hears it.

 

The clicking.

 

Numbly, he pushes open the door to one of the stalls, and sees the small bomb taped to the underside of the toilet.

 

He doesn’t know how to dismantle the bomb.

 

He knows how to empty the club, though.

 

Taking a step back out into the basin area of the bathroom, he flicks the fire alarm switch on the wall. Straight away, bright lights flash on, and he hears the music stop. People are screaming, and there is a stampede of feet.

 

He can’t leave until everyone else has.

 

He looks down at the bomb again, sees that there are two minutes on it. That should be long enough.

 

He needs Deadpool.

 

Cursing himself for leaving his Spider-Man phone at home, he gropes in his pocket for his other phone, and dials Wade.

 

Wade answers straight away. “Hello? Peter, are those alarms?”

 

“Look, I can’t talk for long,” Peter yells over the alarm. “Something bad is happening at Infinity. I might not- I don’t know- I just wanted to say…” He trails off, because he doesn’t know how to articulate what he wants to, and he doesn’t even really know what made him dial Wade.

 

“Peter, get out of there,” Wade says. He sounds like he is moving, although it is difficult to be sure with the fire alarm blaring.

 

“I can’t,” Peter says. “I’m sorry.”

 

He hangs up and goes to the bathroom door, opening it.

 

People are racing past him. There is a fire escape at the end of the corridor.

 

“You need to get as far away from the building as possible!” Peter yells into the crowd, his voice straining over the sound of the alarms. “The car park isn’t far enough!”   
  


He needs to make sure everyone is getting out, but there is no way to push past all of these people. Unless… he isn’t masked, and it’s risky, but what choice does he have? He leaps over the crowd, sticking to the wall across from the door, about eight feet in the air. There isn’t time to worry about being seen, and he starts to climb back towards the main room of the club.

 

Most people have left, are either fleeing dow past the toilets or out of the main door. There are a few people standing around, looking confused. Bar staff, mostly.

 

“You have to get out of here!” Peter yells, and they look at him, with angry suspicion. Peter doesn’t have time for this. There are maybe forty seconds left until the bomb goes off. He wishes he had the suit. “There’s a bomb in the bathroom!”

 

That gets them moving, running towards the front door in horror.

 

Then Peter hears gunfire outside.

 

One of the barmen crumples in the doorway, a bleeding wound on his chest. A man steps in, wearing full body armour, his face covered and a pistol pointing straight at Peter.

 

He fires.

 

Instinct carries Peter onto the wall, sticking there out of the way of the first shot. The man pauses, and although Peter can’t see his face, he knows the man is confused.

 

The bomb goes off.

 

The world blurs, something hits Peter in the side of the head, and he is aware of blinding pain before he blacks out.

 

He opens his eyes, slowly, feeling the wet trickle of blood on his face. He is lying on his side, surrounded by what used to be a wall. Everything hurts. He can hear screaming, and there are still gunshots, although they are no longer directed at him.

 

He tries to move, but every muscle in his body resists him.

 

What the fuck is going on? Someone planted a bomb and then clearly sent in at least one gunman (although judging by the noise there’s at least three of them) to shoot the survivors in the carnage. Why would anyone do this?

 

He curls his fingers, trying to find some purchase in the rubble to pull himself up, but he can’t. He can smell smoke.

 

Another gunshot, another scream. He tries to focus.

 

The front of the building is gone. Two of the gunmen are standing in front of a group of terrified, bloodied survivors. There is a worrying amount of blood on the snow, and more than one body.

 

Where is the third gunman?

 

Oh, of course. He’s behind Peter. Peter hears him approach far too late, his senses all shook up by the explosion.

 

“You’re the little shit who set off the alarm,” he hears the man growl, and then there is the awful agony of someone grabbing him by his hair and hauling him to his feet. His body burns in pain as it is straightened out.

 

He is staring into the masked face, wondering if he is strong enough to fight the man off when his body is in such horrible, painful shock.

 

“Who the fuck are you?” the man asks.

 

There’s a sudden, unnatural hush. The wild, terrified murmurings of the survivors stop.

 

The man holding Peter turns his face, and Peter does the same, staring towards the road, where someone new has arrived.

 

It’s Deadpool, swaggering casually towards the destroyed club. Behind him, there is the distant sound of sirens, but he’s going to arrive long before the police. He actually salutes Peter, tipping two fingers casually to his temple, before pulling out a katana.

 

The two men managing the crowd turn their guns on him and open fire, the bullets ripping through his chest in a way which makes Peter wince.

 

But he doesn’t slow down.

 

“Evening, guys. Heard there was a party I wasn’t invited to,” he booms.

 

“What the fuck-?” one of the gunmen asks, staring down at his own gun.

 

“It’s not nice to blow up nightclubs, gents,” Deadpool says cheerily, before promptly chopping off the first gunman’s arms as easily as if they were made of butter. Blood spurts everywhere, all over Deadpool and the second gunman, who is shaking as he reloads his gun. Deadpool actually laughs before doing the same thing to him.

 

“Fuck,” growls the man holding Peter, throwing him painfully to the ground.

 

Peter pushes himself up to stare as the man walks to Deadpool, ensuring that he stays out of reach of the katana.

 

“As it happens, that little guy you were just manhandling is a pal of mine,” Deadpool tells him.

 

The man glances back at Peter, then looks back to Deadpool. He raises his gun, making a snarling sound.

 

“Mistake,” Deadpool says simply, and throws the katana.

 

It lodges in the miniscule gap between the helmet and the chest piece the man wears; in other words, it lodges in his throat. As yet another spurt of blood covers Deadpool, the merc yanks his katana free and replaces it in the sheath at his back, stepping over the dying gunman and approaching Peter.

 

“You…” Peter tries to speak, but he thinks his throat must be bruised. There are tears on his face that he doesn’t remember crying.

 

“I know, I know, no killing,” Deadpool says, gently, bending to kneel beside him. “He just pissed me off, Peter. Look at what he’s done to you.”

 

The police are arriving. The survivors’ voices are rising in hysterical panic.

 

“I can leave you here, if you want,” Deadpool tells him. “You can explain all this as Peter Whatever-Your-Surname-Is, innocent bystander.”

 

Peter manages to shake his head. “Home, please,” he whispers.

 

He is lifted into those ridiculously strong arms with ease, and turns his face into Deadpool’s chest, breathing in his scent. He can be angry about the fact that Deadpool killed the gunman later. Right now, he just wants to be close to him.

 

“I’m going to black out,” he mumbles into Deadpool’s chest.

 

“Go for it, Peter.”

* * *

 

Peter wakes up when the cold light of dawn illuminates Deadpool’s bedroom.

 

He is in a huge amount of pain. Already, his body has healed a lot of his wounds, but there are a lot more to heal. He raises a hand before his face and examines the brown bruises on his skin.

 

“Morning,” Deadpool says.

 

Peter sits up slowly, dragging himself up against the headboard. The merc is leaning against the doorframe, arms folded.

 

“I don’t know where you live,” Deadpool says, apologetically. “I just assumed by ‘home’, you meant… my home.”

 

Peter blinks, and realises that he has a black eye. He remembers asking to be taken ‘home’, and knows that this was exactly what he meant. Shit. He has been spending a lot of nights here, recently.

 

“How did you know about the bomb?” Peter asks, and his voice sounds strangled. His throat stings.

 

“Happened to be nearby, saw it happen,” Deadpool replies lightly. “Imagine my horror when I saw you there, not as Spider-Man, but just… you.” His voice breaks. “I thought maybe…”

 

“I’m fine,” Peter says. “I’m going to be fine.”

 

Deadpool clears his throat. “I’m glad. You know you’re my favourite workmate.”

 

Peter frowns at this strange compliment. They were friends yesterday morning, if not more than that. He notices for the first time the distance Deadpool is keeping between them, a distance he has always rushed to close before.

 

“Anyway, I’m sorry about killing that guy. I know that means you’re mad at me.”

 

Peter should be. But he can’t blame Deadpool for saving him- and all of those other survivors. “No. But it does mean no kiss,” he says, trying to lighten the mood, trying to provoke some sort of flirtatious reaction out of the mercenary.

 

“True,” Deadpool says. “Anyway, feel free to hang out here as long as you need to. I’m going to get out of your way. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t die.”

 

His attitude makes Peter’s heart break just a little bit. If he was less bruised and battered, he might demand to know what is going on, might stand up and try to take Deadpool’s hand. But he is too out of it, too sore.

 

“I didn’t die,” Peter replies, trying to hide the emotion in his voice.

 

Deadpool nods, turns and leaves. Peter hears the front door slam.

 

He lies back down against the pillows. This has to be about Wade. It can’t be anything else.

 

It’s what he deserves, to be fair. It isn’t right to expect Deadpool to want anything to do with him when he’s also developing feelings for someone else.

 

Peter reaches for his jeans, fishing his phone out of the pocket. He has several messages from Wade:

 

_ Hope you’re okay. _

 

_ I can’t wait to see you. _

 

_ You are the loveliest creature in the world. _

 

The last one was sent only an hour ago. Wade must have been up early.

 

He types a quick reply:  _ I’m fine, see you at six? _

 

His journey home is painful. His bruised face attracts more than a few curious glances. He feels miserable and rejected.

 

He limps up to his apartment, looking forward to a rest. But when he gets there, his door is ajar.

 

“Hello?” he calls out, aware that if he is about to be attacked, he doesn't have the strength to defend himself.

 

MJ and Ned are sitting on the sofa. Ned gives him an apologetic look as MJ stands up, the Spider-Man suit clutched in her hands.


	9. Something Human

“I can explain,” Peter says, numbly.

 

MJ’s eyes flash at him. “Go ahead. Ned already did explain, but I'd like to hear it from you.”

 

Peter looks at Ned, who looks away, ashamed.

 

“Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you,” Peter begins. “I didn't want to put you in danger, MJ.”

 

She looks furious. Her fists clench around his suit. “I'm not angry because you didn't tell me, Parker,” she snaps. “I'm angry because you could have been  _ killed _ .”

 

“Oh.” Peter feels an absurd rush of relief. “Well, I guess I could have been, yeah.”

 

She snarls. “Don't you  _ care _ about your own life?”

 

He hasn't contemplated that question for a while, and has no intention of doing so now. “Look, I have the ability to do something to help the world. I can't ignore that.”

 

“Who else knows?” she thunders.

 

“Um, Ned, my Aunt May, the Avengers obviously…”

 

She softens a little, but her eyes are still flashing. “Tell me everything,” she says.

 

And so Peter tells her everything, starting all those years ago at the very beginning, explaining how Tony Stark recruited him, how his ex-best friend Harry tried to kill him, how he's struggled to maintain a normal life because of his secret identity. He explains Deadpool, how the mercenary popped up in his life a few days ago and now haunts him constantly.

 

“Wait.” Ned raises a hand. The three of them are curled up on the sofa again by now. “You  _ made out _ with Deadpool? Like, dude, do you even  _ know _ that guy's reputation?”

 

Peter is blushing. “Yes and yes.”

 

“I thought you were dating that guy Wade,” MJ says.

 

“I am. It's complicated.” Way too complicated to think about right now.

 

“Deadpool saved you last night,” MJ tells him. “It was on the news. He was filmed carrying this bloodied guy away. We only knew it was you because of those stupidly tight jeans.”

 

Peter is crimson now. “I know, I know. Has anyone taken responsibility for the attack?”

 

Ned shakes his head. “No. Nobody seems to know. Captain America made a statement this morning where he said that terrorism won't be tolerated, the usual, but nobody seems to know who did it.”

 

“It was a good thing you were there,” MJ says, reluctantly. “Lots more people would have died if you weren't.”

 

Peter gives her hand a grateful squeeze. “I'd better give Tony a call about this.”

 

He gets up and heads into his bedroom to get the appropriate phone. He has a missed call from Tony.

 

“Give him my love!” Ned shouts through from the living room.

 

“Shut up, Ned,” Peter and MJ chorus.

 

Peter kicks his bedroom door shut and calls Tony back. As it rings, he catches sight of his reflection in the mirror and grimaces. No wonder Deadpool didn't want to touch him. He has two black eyes, a split lip and a crusty wound at his temple.

 

“Peter? Are you okay?” Tony answers. “We got a message from that mercenary saying he'd saved you from that bomb last night.”

 

“I'm fine,” Peter replies. “And, yeah, Deadpool did save me.” He pauses, allowing some anger into his next words. “He saved you, too.”

 

Tony sighs. “Yeah, Steve said you had taken a bit of a shine to him. My best advice: don't.”

 

Peter decides not to reply to this at all. He doesn't want to argue with Tony. “Have you got any idea who did this?”

 

“None yet,” Tony replies. “Could just be random.”

 

“I doubt it.”

 

Tony makes a small noise. “I agree. Look, take care until you're healed and remember you're always welcome here if you need to rest.”

 

“I'm fine, but thanks.”

 

Peter hangs up and sighs. He hesitates a moment before texting Deadpool:  _ Thanks for last night. I don't know what I'd do without you. _

 

There's no immediate reply, and he sticks the phone into his pocket with the other one and heads back out to Ned and MJ.

 

“Do you need anything?” MJ asks him, eyeing his injuries.

 

“Honestly, just a good soak in the bath and a lie down. Wade's coming over tonight so I need to…” Peter trails off uselessly. How on earth is Wade going to react to his injuries? He should just cancel. But if he does, Wade is going to want to see him again, not after he ran off from their last date.

 

Ned claps him on the shoulder. “Well, good luck with getting laid and all that good stuff.”

 

MJ glares at Ned. “Just have a nice time,” she tells Peter in an unusually gentle tone. “You've earned it.”

 

And Peter nods. He has. He's looking forward to seeing Wade again, especially after the lovely messages he sent him last night after that ridiculous phone call.

 

* * *

Peter wakes up in bed and for a moment can't work out what it is that has awoken him. He had a hot bath after his friends left and then went to lie down. He has woken up in a pleasant, sleepy fog.

 

Then there is another knock at his front door.

 

It's dark. Shit. Wade is here.

 

He is very painfully aware of the fact that he is wearing nothing more than a pair of tatty jogging bottoms as he climbs out of bed and limps to the front door in the dark, opening it to reveal Wade.

 

“I meant to get dressed and tidy up but I fell asleep,” Peter babbles.

 

Wade looks wonderful. He's wearing a snow-dusted denim jacket over a hoodie and tight jeans. His face is pinched with concern and he reaches out to Peter gently, placing his large, cold hands on Peter's shoulders and gently tracing the bruising there.

 

It takes him a few seconds to ask, “What exactly happened?”

 

Peter shrugs. “Bomb. Surely you saw on the news.”

 

“You could have been seriously hurt,” Wade breathes, and then, to Peter's surprise, he draws him in for a hug right there at the front door. There's nothing unpleasant about it; Peter's head fits neatly beneath Wade's chin, and he breathes in the scent of Wade's jacket hungrily.

 

Finally, Wade draws back and offers him that breathtaking grin. Peter smiles back, the movement causing his face to ache, but something very much like real joy is coursing through him.

 

They head inside and Peter feels awkwardness rushing back.

 

“I meant to cook you dinner, but I managed to be asleep all afternoon,” he says, apologetically.

 

Wade is busy examining Peter's apartment, his bright eyes sweeping the room. Peter is very aware of the ridiculous Christmas tree and the unpacked boxes. Finally, he looks back at Peter.

 

“Don't be ridiculous,” he says brightly. “You shouldn't have to cook in the state you're in. We can order food.”

 

It is frighteningly easy to allow himself to be looked after by Wade. He finds himself steered by his shoulders towards the couch and pressed down into the cushions. Wade goes to the kitchen and opens the cupboards.

 

“How long have you lived here?” he asks.

 

“Um, a couple of weeks, I guess.” Peter tries to turn himself to see what Wade is doing.

 

“Do you want help to unpack?” Wade asks. “Where the hell are your drinking glasses, pal?”

 

“In the sink,” Peter replies, awkwardly, feeling embarrassed. “I’m not very tidy. My Aunt May always says I’m a chaotic nightmare to live with.” He feels silly admitting this, worried it’s reminding Wade of how very young he is in comparison to the older man, but Wade just laughs.

 

“That why you moved out?” He is rinsing some glasses.

 

“I, uh, come and go a lot at night,” Peter replies, carefully. “It’s not fair for someone to have to live with that.” Nor would it be fair to live with anyone new.

 

“Exciting night time adventures?” Wade asks, and Peter can  _ hear _ the grin in the words.

 

“Not what you’re thinking, I’m sure.”

 

Wade sits down beside him and offers him a glass of water. Peter takes it and drinks it gratefully. Even though the sofa could easily accommodate MJ, Ned and himself, it isn’t huge, and Wade is such a giant human that his legs are pressed into Peter’s.

 

“I’m really sorry,” Peter says, genuinely. “I really want to do something romantic and I’ve just been useless.”

 

Wade envelops him in an embrace. It is impossibly nice. It’s incredibly easy to forget that, actually, this is only the second time he has met Wade in person. Peter feels as though he knows Wade very well indeed.

 

It is also incredibly easy to forget that this can’t happen. Clearly, it can’t. Peter can’t expect lovely Wade to take on this disastrous existence he seems to be living.

 

“I just like being around you,” Wade whispers into his hair.

 

So easy.

 

Peter looks up and trails his fingers across Wade’s face. The skin there has a strange texture, and it feels nice beneath Peter’s hand. Wade opens his mouth to speak, probably to make a self-deprecating comment, but Peter’s fingers cover his lips gently.

 

“Don’t,” he says, then replaces his fingers with his mouth, kissing Wade.

 

Wade kisses him back, hungrily; his lips are bruising but his hands on Peter’s bruised shoulders are gentle. His lips are soft and he tastes of coffee.

 

He draws back, slightly, and murmurs, “Is this hurting you, baby?”

 

Peter shakes his head. “No. Wade…”

 

They kiss again, bodies pressing tightly together as their lips work, Peter forgetting the world for a long moment. The older man shifts slightly, pulling Peter onto his lap, so that he is straddling him. He probably thinks he is giving the small, fragile, injured Peter a taste of power, absolutely unaware of Peter’s super-strength. Peter rocks down, feeling the thrill of Wade’s erection brushing against his own, moaning out loud.

 

“You okay?” Wade whispers into his mouth.

 

Peter pauses. The words that come spilling out of his mouth are unplanned. “I haven’t ever done… I haven’t… I’m a virgin.”

 

Wade tenses, and draws back from Peter. Shit. He probably thinks that Peter is pathetic. Or maybe he just realises that Peter is a kid compared to him.

 

“I thought that might be the case,” Wade tells him, eyes burning into his.

 

“I’m sorry-”

 

“Stop apologising, Peter,” Wade says, with surprising firmness. “There’s nothing to apologise for. I just think your first time should be special. Not with a man who looks like a literal testicle after a house fire.”

 

Peter frowns down at him. “But I think you’re lovely,” he says, honestly.

 

Wade shrugs. “Also, it should probably not be when you’re covered in bruises and already sore. I may be many things, but I’m not a monster. At least, not always.” He smiles.

 

Peter opens his mouth, but Wade mimics his earlier action and presses his finger across his lips.

 

“Don’t argue,” he instructs Peter. “We can, if you want to, but I want to wait. I want you to be sure.” There is a flash of emotion in his bright eyes. “I would never want you to regret doing something like that with me.”

 

Peter nips Wade’s finger with his teeth, and Wade hisses. “I wouldn’t ever-”

 

“I’m trying very hard to be gentlemanly,” Wade announces loudly. “Please don’t think that means I don’t want to fuck you until you can’t walk.” Peter blushes and groans, ducking to bury his burning face into Wade’s shoulder. “But you can already hardly walk. It’s not a fair assessment of my abilities if you’re already partly ruined.”

 

Wade  _ cares _ for him. A strong wave of emotion rolls over him. He wishes he could tell Wade about Spider-Man. But how can he possibly tell this lovely creature that this level of injury is going to be common in his life? Regardless of any relationship, Peter is going to have to continue risking his life.

 

How could Wade understand that?

 

“I think we should get some sleep,” Wade mumbles into his ear.

 

“You’ll… you’ll stay with me?” Peter looks up, eyes wide. “I mean, we haven’t even eaten- I wouldn’t mind-”

 

“I’ll stay with you,” Wade says gently. He reaches up to brush his fingers through Peter’s hair. “Come on, baby.” He stands up, lifting Peter with a surprising ease. Peter momentarily thinks of Deadpool lifting him last night and feels sad for a few seconds.

 

But then he is being pressed back into his bed, and his exhausted body melts instantly. He closes his eyes, and hears Wade undressing before climbing in beside him, the long, hot length of his body pressed against Peter’s back. There is an awful lot of burning skin, but Peter can feel Wade’s underwear, so at least he isn’t entirely naked.

 

“Next time, I promise you a proper date,” Peter yawns. “This has been two ruined by Sp- by me.”

 

“I don’t know why you would think this is ruined. This is my idea of heaven, baby.”

 

And so, for the first time, Peter Parker falls asleep cradled in Wade Wilson’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, a massive thank you to you all.


	10. Love Someone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's slightly shorter today, my apologies.

Wade wakes up as a bright, white morning light penetrates Peter's bedroom window. He feels unusually well rested and content. Peter is curled up in his arms, the side of his face pressed into Wade's chest without any regard or distaste for the ugly, lumpy skin there.

 

[Because he's asleep, asshole.]

 

But Wade is able to ignore the negative opinions in his head. He is transfixed on Peter, watching the light play across his face. Seeing Peter asleep has been a feature of quite a few mornings now, but he has never been this close; Peter's breath ghosts against his skin, and his fingers are curled around Wade's spine in a possessive manner.

 

The bruising has healed a lot overnight. Although his face is not entirely unmarked, Peter looks far better. Wade gently traces a finger across his cheek, momentarily thrilled by the fact he can simply do so.

 

He is truly fucking lucky. Peter Parker is a remarkable and beautiful man who has, for some absurd reason, decided that he finds both Wade and Deadpool romantically appealing. Quite why Peter would choose him, when he is surrounded by both hot, young college students and also the Avengers, is a mystery.

 

A lovely mystery.

 

Peter stirs, big, soft eye blinking open reluctantly. “Wade?” he mumbles, sleepily.

 

Again, Wade has the pleasant knowledge that he is the first thing on Peter’s mind in the morning. “Good morning, baby.”

 

“Are you okay?” Peter asks, reaching up to rub at his eyes like a small kitten.

 

“I couldn’t be better,” Wade replies. The only thing that could make it better would be if he could tell Peter the truth about Deadpool. His current plan- which is to woo Peter until young Spidey falls in love with him and won’t leave him even when he finds out the truth- needs more patience.

 

{As if he’ll ever fall in love with us.}

 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Peter breathes, gently cutting through the negative opinions in his head. He snuggles closer to Wade, his silky hair tickling Wade’s chin.

 

“What is on the agenda for today?” Wade asks.

 

“I have work,” Peter groans into his chest. “How about you?”

 

Wade needs to take on some jobs, really, to pay his own rent. “Bit of work too, I think.”

 

“You never told me what sort of freelancer you are.” Peter is- sadly- now rolling away, wincing in the bright sunlight and untangling himself from the blanket.

 

[The sort who gets hired to kill Spider-Man.]

 

“I’m in asset protection,” Wade says, vaguely, hoping it sounds sufficiently dull enough to minimise the risk of further probing. “I help people get out of sticky situations.”

 

Peter gives him a probing look but doesn’t say anything. His torso looks far less bruised this morning, and realistically, anyone who didn’t know he was Spider-Man would be questioning this at length. Wade wonders whether or not he should pretend to be confused, but decides against it.

 

“Do you want some breakfast?” Peter asks. “I feel like I’ve been a dreadful host.” He stands up and stretches, the muscles in his stomach and arms rippling.

 

“This view alone makes you one of the best hosts ever,” Wade tells him, unable to hide a smirk. “Unless breakfast is you, I’ll just pick something up on my way home.”

 

That delightful crimson blush stains Peter’s cheeks like blackberry juice, and he gives a nervous laugh. “I’m going to shower,” he says.

 

Wade leans back against the pillows, failing to resist the urge to breathe in Peter’s scent from the soft fabric. He hears the water rushing and pictures rivulets of soap trailing down Peter’s stomach.

 

When Peter emerges, a towel wrapped around his waist, a large gust of freshly-scented warm air comes out of the bathroom with him. His hair sticks up in damp spikes, and water beads on his shoulder blades. He is magnificent.

 

Wade reluctantly climbs out of bed, and feels Peter’s eyes on his body as he reaches for his clothes.

 

{He’s disgusted.}

 

“You are lovely,” Peter says quietly.

 

They get dressed quietly, basking in the strangely natural domestic glow of the situation. It’s chilly in the bedroom, and both men dress quickly, pulling on their clothes with haste. Peter is wearing yet another scandalously tight pair of jeans with a plain black sweater. Wade smiles as he watches Peter try to tame his wet hair with a brush.

 

“I’ll walk down with you,” Peter says, reaching for a pair of battered boots.

 

“Do you… do you want to do this again?” Wade asks, feeling suddenly anxious.

 

Peter smiles. “What, have you come over so I can use you as a pillow? Definitely.”

 

Wade smiles back. Peter tugs on a red scarf and an old black wool coat, and Wade pulls on his hoodie and denim jacket. They leave the apartment together and walk downstairs holding hands, the air growing steadily cooler as they near the bottom.

 

The street is blanketed in a thick covering of snow, and more flakes drift down. Peter turns his face up and sticks out his tongue to capture a flake there. Wade burns this image into his brain; he never wants to forget it.

 

“I’ve had fun,” Peter says.

 

They both hesitate a moment, then Peter stands on his tiptoes and presses a gentle kiss to Wade’s mouth. The gesture is sweet and intimate. Wade suspects that he is, for once, blushing as much as Peter.

 

“Text me,” Peter requests, then he turns and walks off.

 

Wade watches him for a moment, heart thumping pleasantly in his chest, then turns to the cafe across the road from Peter’s apartment. He didn’t eat dinner last night due to Peter looking like he needed fourteen hours sleep, and now his stomach is growling.

 

He heads inside. It is warm and steamy, and the whole place smells of coffee and bacon. Wade goes to the counter, where a young guy about the same age as Peter is serving a plate of cooked breakfast to an old woman with a smile. Once she has taken her breakfast to a table, the young man turns his smile to Wade; it falters a little when he sees Wade’s face, but he quickly recovers the smile. This is one of the better reactions. At least the smile came back.

 

“Morning, Ned,” Wade says, reading the name on the guy’s name tag. “Can I please get a breakfast with literally everything and a large coffee?”

 

“Literally everything? You want like a muffin on there, too?” Ned asks, eyes glittering with amusement.

 

“Maybe on the side.” Wade can’t stop grinning as he hands his money to Ned. He’s thinking about Peter again.

 

Ned gives him a number and he goes to sit down with his coffee, sipping at it gratefully. Life has taken a surprisingly good turn, and Wade feels positive. The cafe is hung with Christmas decorations which are charmingly tacky, and Wade can picture the joy this would bring to young Peter’s face.

 

“Well, well, well,” comes a voice from the table beside him, where a woman is obscured by a copy of the Bugle. “What have we here? Wade Wilson coming out of Peter Parker’s building first thing in the morning, it would seem.” She lowers the paper, revealing a mass of red curls and icy eyes. It’s Romanoff.

 

“Has Steve Rogers literally sent you here to spy on Peter?” Wade asks.

 

“I’m not spying on Peter. I’m spying on you.” She takes a delicate, deliberate sip of coffee. “And as it happens, Steve didn’t ask me to do this. He doesn’t know I’m here.”

 

Wade mulls this over. “Why are you spying on me? I’m assuming it isn’t because you’ve decided you want to fuck me. I mean, I seem to be doing quite well recently in the realm of ridiculously hot heroes wanting to bone me, but it does seem unlikely.”

 

She doesn’t laugh. “Wade, you are a repulsive human being, both internally and externally.”

 

[She’s not wrong.]

 

“That’s an inarguable fact, but it doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”

 

She exhales through her nose, turning those bright eyes on him. “Peter is old enough to make his own decisions. It’s evident to me that he has feelings for you.”

 

Wade decides not to ask how much surveillance she has been doing.

 

“But, more importantly, it’s evident that you have feelings for Peter.” She sips her coffee, then produces a photograph, which she passes to Wade. It is a security camera photograph, blurry, of Deadpool carrying Peter out of the exploded nightclub. “Steve was concerned that you would… toy with Peter. I don’t think that’s true.”

 

It is actually true, but not in the sense she means. He has no intention of hurting Peter, but he has managed to get into a scenario where both Wade Wilson and Deadpool are romantically involved with Peter, who has no idea that they are the same deformed guy.

 

“I think it’s perhaps too easy to make assumptions about someone based on their past choices,” Natasha continues.

 

“Are we talking about me or you here?”

 

She glares at him.

 

Ned calls out his number, and he goes to take his loaded plate from the counter, as well as a muffin. When he returns to his table, Natasha is gone.


	11. Sledgehammer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's smut here. Check the updated tags and rating.

Peter to Wade:  _ Had a brilliant night. I'm so sorry for being dreadful! In my defense you make a wonderful pillow. _

 

Wade to Peter:  _ Stop apologising, baby. You have done nothing apart from make me smile. _

 

Peter to Wade:  _ Does it bother you that I'm a virgin? I know you're older and probably really experienced. (If that sounds like an insult it isn't meant as one! I just mean that you're lovely and if I met you I'd want to fuck you.) _

 

Spider-Man to Deadpool:  _ Are you okay? Why haven't you messaged me back? _

 

Wade to Peter:  _ Of course it doesn't bother me. I'm glad you told me. _

 

Deadpool to Spider-Man: ...nothing.

 

* * *

After spending his break messaging furiously, Peter heads back out to the coffee shop. It's a quiet day and the first part of his shift was relatively simple. He's going to be working the latter part alone, which he's looking forward to. He needs time to think.

 

He doesn't understand what's going on in his heart. He's always been a strictly one guy at a time sort of fellow, so why is he now being torn in two over Wade and Deadpool? It doesn't make any sense. Even though he is practically glowing after spending time with Wade last night, he can't help thinking about Deadpool, too.

 

It doesn't help that Deadpool hasn't messaged him back. Peter is starting to wonder if Deadpool has managed to get himself into some sort of dreadful mess. Perhaps he's in danger. The guy can't die, but that doesn't mean he can't suffer.

 

He's leaning against the counter, watching the one old man in the shop read his newspaper, when the door opens and MJ enters.

 

“Hey!” Peter greets her with a smile.

 

She shakes off her coat and scarf and drapes them over the back of a chair before coming over to the counter. “Hey, Parker. How's it going? How was last night?”

 

Peter feels the telltale burning in his cheeks as he remembers the way Wade had felt, pressed hot and hard against him in bed. “It was great,” he says sincerely.

 

MJ smiles. “I'm glad. How are your injuries? You look a lot better.”

 

Peter glances at the old man then shrugs. “I heal pretty fast because of the you-know-what.”

 

MJ rolls her eyes. “It's a miracle you kept it a secret for as long as you did. You are honestly just the least subtle person.”

 

Peter laughs and makes her a cappuccino. He thinks about her words as he works. She is right, really. It's a miracle nobody else has figured out. Wade must have noticed how quickly he is healing from his injuries.

 

“What are you frowning at?” MJ asks, taking the coffee and sipping it.

 

Peter clicks his tongue. He hesitates, gives the old man another glance, and blurts out, “It's Deadpool. He isn't responding to my messages.”

 

She cocks her head. “Well, you did tell him you were involved with another guy, Parker. What do you expect?”

 

“I just feel like… Deadpool would see that as a challenge. He wouldn’t just give up,” Peter says, thinking aloud. He chews his lip thoughtfully. “I don’t think he would let me go without a fight. So I’m worried he’s in danger.”

 

“He can’t die though, can he?” MJ looks spectacularly unconcerned.

 

“Well, no. But he can be hurt.” Peter is worrying his lip, his fingers knotting together.

 

MJ raises an eyebrow. “But don’t you see that  _ is _ what has happened? You’ve hurt him- emotionally. So he’s avoiding you.”

 

Peter just doesn’t believe this. He almost wants to, even though it is awful to imagine. But it just doesn’t feel right.

 

“What you doing after work?” MJ asks gently, trying to distract him. “Fancy coming to mine and watching a Christmas film? Ned’s coming.”

 

“I need to do some… Spider-Man stuff,” Peter whispers.

 

“But you’re hurt.”

 

“I’m almost healed now,” Peter retorts. “Besides, I won’t do anything ridiculous. I just want to patrol a little and keep an eye on things. We still don’t know who set that bomb off. We can’t rule a second attack out.”

 

MJ merely glares at him. “Be careful.”

 

* * *

It’s a quiet night. No crimes at all, in fact. Peter sits on top of a building near his home, legs crossed, sipping a can of soda with the mask pushed up to his nose. A gentle, silvery snow falls, and the city is bathed in the glow of Christmas lights.

 

Peter is warm inside the suit, and could sit here until dawn feeling quite comfortable. But that seems silly when the night is so calm.

 

He should go home.

 

But as he rolls down the mask and shoots some web at the opposite building, swinging down with ease, he decides, quite automatically, to head somewhere else.

 

It’s a quick, simple journey, and in less than three minutes he is climbing in through Deadpool’s window.

 

“Deadpool!” he calls.

 

His own voice echoes around the room. The place is empty.

 

Maybe he is in some sort of trouble. Perhaps Peter should alert the Avengers. Although, to be honest, he is unsure if they would even care.

 

There’s no sign of a struggle; the place is as messy as always. Hesitantly, Peter goes into the bedroom. The bed is a mess, blankets tangled together. He takes off his glove to touch the pillow and finds it cold.

 

For a moment, he thinks about the last time he was in that bed, pinned to it by Deadpool.

 

He shakes his head, his body suddenly uncomfortably warm, and sits down on the side of the bed. What if MJ is right and Deadpool has simply decided that he no longer wants anything to do with Spider-Man?

 

He pulls off the mask, irritated at himself, and rubs his face. He is getting a headache.

 

To distract himself, he pulls open Deadpool’s bedside table drawer and immediately recoils in shock. He doesn’t even have time to feel guilty about being so nosy because his entire consciousness is overcome by curiosity and mild horror at the items contained within it: a huge bottle of lubricant, a very large butt plug, a pair of serious-looking handcuffs, some clamps and an enormous knife.

 

Blushing, trying very hard not to imagine Deadpool using some or all of these horrors on him, Peter shuts the drawer again.

 

He feels incredibly virginal- as a virgin, he feels virginal often, but never as profoundly as he does right now. Perhaps Deadpool sensed his innocence and that is another reason why he no longer wishes to be involved. Clearly, the older mercenary has some less than vanilla tastes. It isn’t as though Peter has never touched a man, but he has never even had polite sex with the lights off.

 

But the discoveries in the drawer have made him hard and tingly. He is thinking about Deadpool straddling him, kissing him, biting him. He is thinking about sitting in Wade’s lap, writhing and arching his hips.

 

He needs to go home and touch himself. He needs to get away from this.

 

Standing up suddenly, he grabs his mask and heads towards the bedroom door. He turns his head back to ensure that he has closed the bedside table drawer properly; his senses tingle, belatedly, and as he turns his face forward again he collides with the very solid form of Deadpool, who is standing with his arms folded in the doorway.

 

“Well, now,” the mercenary says.

 

Peter takes a step back, well aware that he cannot be near Deadpool right now. “Sorry- I… how long were you standing there?”

 

Deadpool cocks his head, calculating. As always, his face is covered, but Peter knows that he is staring intently at Spider-Man’s flushed face and awkward body language. “I just arrived,” Deadpool replies, finally. “Why?”

 

“Uh, no reason,” Peter says, and forces an awkward laugh which makes him cringe. “I just came to check you were still alive and clearly you are so…”

 

Deadpool takes one deliberate, slow step towards him. Peter takes a step back.

 

Deadpool pauses. He is clearly not used to Spider-Man actively trying to get away from him. “Tell me what is going on,” he demands.

 

Damn it all, that firm tone of voice is making Peter even more aroused. He has to get out of here- now. He considers webbing himself to the wall behind Deadpool and scuttling out around the mercenary, but given the somewhat small nature of the bedroom, that may not be possible.

 

“You look flushed and you’re out of breath,” Deadpool tells him. “Have you been fighting?”

 

“Uh, no.” Peter has taken another step back. “Like I said, just popped in on my way home because I was worried you were…”

 

He trails off uselessly.

 

Deadpool is so fucking big and strong. He takes another slow step towards Peter, who suspects that the mercenary is trying not to spook him, but this deliberate approach is calculated and cold and very arousing.

 

Reaching out, Deadpool places his enormous hand on Peter’s arm. Embarrassingly, a small whimper escapes Peter’s lips, and he leaps back, the back of his legs colliding with Deadpool’s bed. He falls back onto it, landing awkwardly on his ass and looking up at the merc.

 

“You’re not… afraid of me?” Deadpool asks, sounding suddenly worried.

 

“No. No, of course not,” Peter says firmly.

 

“Good.” Deadpool closes the gap between them so that he is standing right in front of Peter, whose face is roughly level with Deadpool’s navel. He could just look down and see the bulge in Deadpool’s spandex suit, could trail his tongue along the edge of it… He closes his eyes, then forces himself to keep looking up at Deadpool, who reaches out carefully and runs one gloved finger down the exposed skin of Peter’s neck, eliciting a moan. “I see,” Deadpool says.

 

“I…” Peter is scarlet now. He turns his face away, screwing his eyes closed like a child who has been caught doing something they shouldn't be. Which- to be honest- he might as well be in Deadpool’s eyes. “I just came to see if you were here. I was worried. But then…”

 

“But then?” Deadpool repeats, languidly stroking his finger across Peter’s pulse and watching the goosebumps erupt there.

 

Peter bites his lip. “I… I opened your drawer. I’m sorry, it was really rude of me.”

 

“I see. Yes, that was rather rude of you, Spidey. Who would have thought it of you?” Despite the words, there is clear glee in Deadpool’s tone.

 

He pushes Peter back onto his back firmly, sitting down beside him to bend his face to Peter’s ear. Peter feels unusually helpless. He’s been superhumanly strong for as long as he’s been fooling around with men, but he suspects that, if it came down to a struggle, he would find it quite difficult to beat Deadpool. But he trusts him; Deadpool has looked after him many times now, has saved him and cared for him.

 

“Did you like what you found?” Deadpool whispers.

 

The words against his ear make Peter whimper and arch his back. “I… maybe,” he replies, a little ashamed.

 

“There’s nothing to blush about, Spidey. Plenty of people enjoy a healthy range of bedroom activities.” Deadpool’s fingers trail down the Peter’s stomach. “Have you ever wondered what it might be like to be tied up?”

 

Peter bucks his hips, suddenly desperate to feel some friction against his throbbing cock. “I…” He has thought about it, late at night when he touches himself.

 

“Interesting,” Deadpool says, with a smokey chuckle. His fingers brush Peter’s cock and Peter lets out a strangled moan. “Do you… do you definitely want me to do this?” Deadpool asks him. “We don’t have to.”

 

But Peter rather thinks that if Deadpool doesn’t touch him properly he’s going to literally die. He nods frantically, struggling to form coherent words.

 

Deadpool pulls off the Spider-Man suit with the practiced ease of a man who has clearly had both of a lot of sex and a lot of time inside his own suit. Mere moments later, Peter is lying absolutely naked next to the still fully clothed and masked mercenary, feeling incredibly aroused, scared and vulnerable.

 

“I won’t fuck you,” Deadpool whispers into his ear, and Peter lets out a disappointed whimper. “I don’t want your first time to be like this.” He pauses. “At least, I’d assume it’s your first time, baby.”

 

“It would be,” Peter replies, too aroused to be ashamed of that fact. “Please, touch me.”

 

“You asked so nicely.” And- finally- Deadpool’s gloved fingers wrap around Peter’s pulsating dick and start to pump. “It’s so fucking good when you beg.”

 

Peter covers his own mouth with his fingers to stifle a scream. He has never been so turned on his life. Something about submitting to the mercenary has turned him into a tingling, horny mess. He bucks his hips in time with Deadpool’s strokes, feeling pleasure building inside him, and he knows it’s not going to take long.

 

“I… Deadpool, please don’t stop,” Peter moans. “Please.”

 

With his spare hand, Deadpool pinches Peter’s nipple firmly, just hard enough to hurt, and to Peter’s intense surprise that feels fucking good. He lets out a strangled cry.

 

“More,” he begs.

 

Deadpool laughs in his ear again and pinches the other one, brushing his own erection against Peter’s leg.

 

“I’m going to…”

 

Peter screams against his own fingers as he finishes into Deadpool’s hand, wave upon wave of pleasure making his body tense and tremble.

 

He is vaguely aware that he is panting, his limbs weak. Deadpool murmurs something and gets up, leaving Peter feeling oddly cold.

 

Moments later, he returns with a warm, wet cloth. Peter feels himself being tenderly cleaned.

 

Finally, he is tucked up in the blanket, the mercenary wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close so that Peter’s head is on his chest.

 

“Are you alright? Was that alright?” Deadpool asks him, sounding uncertain.

 

Peter struggles to speak. His body feels like a cloud, loose and relaxed. “It was wonderful,” he manages, and yawns helplessly. “We need to talk…”

 

“In the morning,” Deadpool tells him, stroking his hair gently. “Go to sleep, Peter.”

 

And so, quite unaware of it, Peter Parker falls asleep in Wade Wilson’s arms for the second time.


	12. How To Save A Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it all goes a bit wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was browsing the Spideypool hashtag and Twitter and one of y’all recommended this fic to someone! (I won't name the Twitter handle in case you're on the down low.) My little heart burst with joy and I love you.
> 
> (Also this is comic Spideypool for those of you who are concerned; I like an age gap but I can't cope with underage Spidey. Peter's 21 here. By all means apply whatever version of the characters you fancy. I'm just basing them on a mash-up of the many comics I've ingested over the years. I'm fucking around with canon in a truly wanton way anyway.)
> 
> As always, many thanks and much love to all of you. This has turned into my holiday project and it's giving me some good purpose every single day, and I appreciate all of the support so much :)

[Well, you fucked that up.]

 

{Wasn’t there some sort of plan? About Deadpool not fucking around with Peter?}

 

[Yeah, something to do with Wade Wilson wooing him. Not sure the plan included Deadpool giving the poor kid a kinky handjob.]

 

Wade tries to chase away the negative voices in his mind when he wakes up with Peter still curled, naked, in his arms. He’s still asleep, looking absolutely at peace.

 

Wade has to tell him the truth. He can’t continue this. It’s not like Peter doesn’t care for both Wade and Deadpool.

 

Maybe he’ll just take his mask off when Peter wakes up. Although, to be honest, nobody deserves the sight of his deformed face first thing in the morning.

 

He untangles himself from Peter’s limbs and makes his way to the kitchen, thinking about the way Peter came apart beneath his hands last night. Young Spidey’s kinky streak is a pleasant surprise.

 

Wade is making coffee when his phone rings; he ditched it on the kitchen counter last night when he got home and heard movement in his bedroom. He lifts it and checks the screen to see who is calling; it reads ‘The Winter Soldier Is Coming’. He chuckles at his own previous wit, remembering when he had first saved the number after Bucky Barnes called him a few months ago to yell at him for something or other.

 

“Morning, beautiful,” he answers, wondering what the hell the Avengers want now.

 

He  _ hears _ Bucky grit his teeth. “I’m going to ask you something, and if the answer’s yes, I’m going to kill you.”

 

“Two things, my frosty pal: I can’t die, and that doesn’t give me an incentive to tell you the truth if the answer really is yes.”

 

Bucky ignores him. “Is Peter at your apartment?”

 

Wade considers lying. None of the Avengers will be very happy with him if they think he’s defiled their precious baby Spider-Man, and he doesn’t want to embarrass Peter, either. Despite this, however, he is also- at heart- a huge asshole. “It depends. If ‘lying naked in my bed asleep’ counts as here, then yes, he is.”

 

Bucky makes a disgusted noise. “You are a monster. Turn your TV on and wake him up. We’ll be there in fifteen.” He hangs up.

 

“Deadpool?” Peter is standing in the bedroom doorway, wrapped in the blanket. His hair is sticking up and his eyes are unfocused. “Who was on the phone?”

 

Deadpool stares at him greedily for a moment, wanting to remember this forever. Truly, Peter is the best thing he has ever seen. The fact that he has been allowed to touch him, to kiss him, is extraordinary. Alas, it seems telling him the truth is no longer an option this morning.

 

“I am afraid, Spidey, it was your good friend Bucky Barnes, looking for you.”

 

“Bucky?” Peter rubs his face. “Why?”

 

“I am guessing it’s not just the way he usually starts a Tuesday. He told us to turn on the TV and that they’ll be here soon.”

 

Alertness comes quickly back to Peter. “Something bad must have happened.”

 

Wade silently agrees, reaching for the TV remote, which lies beneath a pile of comics. He clicks it on and the two of them stand side-by-side, watching.

 

A subway train has blown up.

 

The images are horrific; flames licking a hollowed out metal chassis, bloodied victims being lifted out of the wreckage. The text at the bottom of the screen informs them that eighty people are dead.

 

But that’s not even the worst part.

 

The serious-faced news anchor grimly says, “Police received a message this morning fifteen minutes after the attack from a man calling himself The Pharaoh, taking responsibility for the attack and promising not to stop until the vigilante known as Spider-Man hands himself in to him.”

  
Peter looks devastated. His face is pale, his eyes round and horrified, fingers gripping the blanket so tightly that they turn white.

 

“The Pharaoh?” Wade repeats. “A guy named Pharaoh naming himself The Pharaoh? That’s dreadful even by comic book standards.”

 

Peter doesn’t laugh.

 

[This is your fault.]

 

Is it? He did take the job to kill Peter for Pharaoh. He also let Pharaoh live- at Peter’s request.

 

Guilt creeps up on Wade, making him feel awful.

 

“Look- it’s not your fault,” he tells Peter.

 

“It absolutely is my fault,” Peter breathes.

 

Wade reaches for Peter’s arm, but the younger man shakes him off and storms to the bedroom. Fuck. Young Spidey is no doubt going to do something rash now.

 

“Peter!” he calls, uselessly.

 

{We should kill Pharaoh.}

 

[Yes- chop his useless fucking head off.]

 

“Finally something we agree on,” Wade mumbles.

 

Peter comes out, wearing his Spider-Man suit and clutching the mask in his hand. There is something about the firm set of his chin Wade doesn’t like; he hasn’t seen this expression on Peter Parker’s face before.

 

There is a knock at the door, which opens to reveal Bucky Barnes and Bruce Banner, who clearly have forgotten that you are supposed to wait to be invited inside. Both men look serious, and are wrapped in scarves and coats.

 

Wade wants to make a joke, but a glance at Peter’s face dissuades him.

 

“You need to come with us,” Bucky says to Peter, ignoring Wade completely as he shuts the door behind him. “You aren’t safe.”

 

“Sergeant Barnes, I’m not coming with you,” Peter says, with a firmness Wade hasn’t heard in his voice before; it is cold. “I’m going to find Pharaoh.”

 

“I’ll come with you,” Wade tells Peter.

 

“Shut up, Deadpool,” Bucky snaps. He turns back to Peter, dragging his metal fingers through his untidy hair in a stressed manner. “Peter, for God’s sake, calm down and we can fix this together.”

 

“I can’t risk anyone else getting hurt because of me,” Peter replies. Wade thinks he falls in love with him again at this moment.

 

“Peter, we want to help,” Bruce says, in his calming monotone. He steps forward and reaches for Peter’s arm.

 

Peter allows him to touch it briefly before stepping back. There are tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Doctor Banner.”

 

“You are at risk. Anyone who knows your real identity is at risk,” Bucky continues, folding his arms. “Who knows?”

 

“The Avengers. My Aunt May. My friends Ned and MJ. The people in this room- except Deadpool.”

 

[If only he knew.]

 

Bruce and Bucky both glance at Wade, questions in their eyes, but Wade shakes his head, and they both turn their attention back to Peter.

 

“Promise us you won’t do anything without telling us,” Bruce says, pleadingly. “You aren’t thinking straight. You’re understandably upset.”

 

“Steve’s going to kill me if you just storm off and hand yourself over, Peter,” Bucky adds, and he manages the faintest smile. Wade silently approves: this strategy is far more likely to work on Peter.

 

A tear escapes Peter’s eyes and rolls down his face; Wade feels his heart break to see it. But Peter nods. “I’m going home. I’m going to take today to make a plan.”

 

“Promise?” Wade asks.

 

Peter glares at him, and Wade knows exactly what is going through his head: if he hadn’t been lying in bed with Deadpool, this might not have happened. It’s absolute bullshit, but Wade can practically read the thoughts in Peter’s eyes. “I wish you’d all stop treating me like a child,” Peter snaps.

 

Nobody knows what the correct response is. Wade can taste a few inappropriate ones in his mouth, but he manages to swallow them down.

 

Peter pulls his mask on and heads to the window. He climbs out without saying goodbye, without looking back, leaving Wade alone with Bruce and Bucky.

 

[Shit.]

 

Bucky grabs him around the throat with his metal arm, hard enough to restrict Wade’s airflow quite considerably. He glares at him.

 

“Fifty shades of grey hair, old man?” Wade chokes out.

 

{Not a good joke.}

 

“Tell me why he was here,” Bucky snarls.

 

Bruce is standing off to the side, looking uncomfortable, his arms folded. Wade knows that if he attacks Bucky in retaliation, they are going to have a big fucking green problem in his living room.

 

“He came over last night to check I wasn’t dead,” Deadpool tells him, honestly. “I think he’s having difficulty understanding the whole ‘I can’t die’ thing.”

 

Bucky growls.

 

“Look, I promise I won’t hurt him,” Wade tells him, raising his palms. “But I care about him. And he cares about me.”

 

“You don’t care about anything other than yourself,” Bucky snaps.

 

“Why does he think you don’t know who he is?” Bruce asks, mildly. “I assume you do know exactly who he is?”

 

“He thinks I just know what he looks like and that he’s called Peter.” It is really getting very hard to talk around Bucky’s fingers. “I mean, Wade Wilson knows that he’s Peter Parker, but not that Peter Parker is Spidey.”

 

“What the fuck?” Bucky asks.

 

Wade knows he’s going to regret this, but he can’t stop the words from tumbling out. “He doesn’t know I’m Wade Wilson.”

 

“You fucking asshole.” Bucky punches him in the face with his metal hand, hard enough to make Wade crumple. “God, you are the worst.”

 

Bruce takes Bucky’s arm and pulls him back. Wade kneels on the floor, the taste of his own blood soaking his mouth as he reaches up to touch the painful mess of his nose.

 

“How doesn't he know?” Bucky seethes. “You give out fucking business cards that have your real name and phone number on under the name Deadpool, you absolute asshole.”

 

“I don't think Steve Rogers would be wild about you swearing like that, my murderous pal,” Wade murmurs, pushing his mask out of the way to wipe the blood on his nose.

 

“Peter’s got a lot to deal with,” Bruce tells him. “He doesn’t need this, too.”

 

Wade rather suspects Bruce Banner is right, the clever bastard.

 

[You could just kill the pair of them.]

 

But Wade thinks of Peter, and stays on the floor, not moving as his uninvited guests leave.

 

Ten minutes later, his phone gets a message. It's from ‘Peter Parker (Secretly Spidey)’- so it’s Peter texting Wade Wilson.

 

(Spider-Man is saved under 'Spidey Baby (Secretly Peter)’ to avoid confusion.)

 

_ It breaks my heart to type this but it's too dangerous for you to be involved with me right now. I can't explain but please don't try to contact me. I'm sorry, Wade. I haven't been fully honest with you and I did something you couldn't forgive last night anyway. _

 

The stupid, noble, selfless, sexy idiot.

 

[Guess we aren't seducing him as Wade Wilson anymore.]


	13. The Wind Beneath My Wings

When Peter climbs in his bedroom window, he can hear voices in the living room. He stiffens, but he instinctively knows there’s no danger. It’s Ned and MJ he can hear, although God alone knows how they managed to get into his apartment. He feels reassured that they are here, but knows he needs to be alone.

 

He types a quick message to Wade with tears in his eyes; this morning has taught him that the cost of being involved with Spider-Man is too high. He cannot ask Wade, who has been nothing but sweet and adoring, to stay with him.

 

Especially after he let Deadpool… do _that_ to him last night.

 

He is a shaky, emotional mess. He keeps seeing the images from the television in his mind, reliving the dawning horror as he stared at them.

 

This is all his fault. It is his fault so many people are dead.

 

Bucky is wrong. He cannot ask anyone else for help. He created this mess, and he alone needs to solve it.

 

He is shaking as he pulls off the suit.

 

“Peter?” MJ calls. “Are you in there?”

 

“I’m naked- don’t… don’t…” Peter’s words are lost as he bursts into tears.

 

The door opens and, apparently without a care for the fact that their friend is naked (and hasn’t showered), MJ and Ned fall on him, holding him gently. This simply makes Peter cry harder, his hands clinging to both of them.

 

“You couldn’t do anything,” MJ is murmuring, “it’s not your fault, Peter.”

 

But it is.

 

It takes a very long time for Peter to stop crying. When he finally finishes, both Ned and MJ are soggy with his tears, and he’s got the beginnings of a very bad headache. His eyes sting, and he is prepared to bet that they are red.

 

“Where were you last night?” Ned asks. “We came over as soon as we saw the news this morning, but you weren’t here. We were worried you’d done something stupid.”

 

Not yet.

 

“What do you need us to do?” MJ asks.

 

Peter looks up at them. They are so _lovely_ and kind. He doesn’t deserve them, and they don’t deserve to be mixed up with him. Bucky is right about one thing; there is a possibility that they are now at risk.

 

“I need to shower,” he manages.

 

“Well, I’m not coming in there to wash your back, buddy,” Ned warns.

 

Peter manages a small smile. “I’ll never get over this rejection, Ned.”

 

“I’d offer, but…” MJ trails off.

 

“The guy you’re seeing,” Peter says, realising that he hasn’t even asked her how it’s going. He has been so unforgivably selfish. “How… how is that?”

 

MJ merely smiles. “It’s… good. I’m seeing him tonight, unless you need us.”

 

Peter definitely needs them to _not_ be here, considering what he is planning to do. He forces a weak smile and gives MJ a squeeze. “Don’t be silly. I’ll be fine. Just need a quiet night.”

 

He stumbles off to the shower, standing beneath the hot water and trying very hard not to imagine Deadpool’s hands on his body. He feels like a lot has changed in the past twenty-four hours. Wade is out of his life for good- he has to be, as it is simply too dangerous for him to be in it. Deadpool has revealed a wholly unsurprising sexual prowess and also shown a surprising tenderness in his refusal to take Spider-Man’s virginity. And, of course, eighty people are dead because of Peter.

 

He tries very hard not to cry again.

 

* * *

A few hours later, as the sun begins to dip below the horizon, Peter is getting ready to hand himself in. He figures a good place to start looking for Pharaoh is at the warehouse where Deadpool first tried to kill him.

 

Bucky and Steve call him, asking how he’s doing and if he wants to come spend the night.

 

“I’m fine, thanks,” Peter tells them, keeping his voice calm. “I’m just going to get some sleep and talk to you about it tomorrow.”

 

But there is very possibly not going to be a tomorrow.

 

He writes a note for MJ and Ned, then another one for the Avengers. He sticks them in carefully labelled envelopes on his kitchen bench. He writes a third letter for Tony, and after some hesitation, writes a letter to Deadpool.

 

His fingers are shaking and he feels teary.

 

He goes into the bedroom and pulls on his Spider-Man suit, staring at his own face in the mirror with the mask bunched up in his hand. He looks _old_ compared to a few days ago, a seriousness in his eyes that he doesn’t recognise.

 

Pharaoh wants him dead. The best outcome of this is that he somehow manages to take out all of Pharaoh’s men and Pharaoh himself. That’s not impossible; Peter has taken on a lot of guys at once before. But Pharaoh seems to have access to shockingly good equipment. Peter thinks about the nightclub and the subway train.

 

There is a good chance he won’t walk out of this. But if he hands himself in, nobody else will die because of him.

 

There’s a bang in the living room.

 

Peter tenses, body already full of shredded nerves. He goes to the door, looking out and sighing at what he sees.

 

Fucking Deadpool.

 

Deadpool is lying on the sofa, holding a piece of paper. Peter realises, as Deadpool begins to read aloud, that it is the letter he wrote for the merc. “ _Dear Deadpool, I am sorry for lying to you. I had to hand myself in to stop other people dying. I know this won’t surprise you. If you’re reading this, that means I probably didn’t come back. For what it’s worth, I would have loved to spend more time with you. Love, Peter._ ” Deadpool’s tone is icy. He is angry.

 

“How did you know where I live?” Peter demands. “Did Bucky tell you?”  


Deadpool ignores the question completely, lowering the letter to glare at Peter. (Presumably, at least- it is impossible to see his face, but Peter _knows_ he is being glowered at.) “Planning on going somewhere, baby?”

 

Peter hesitates. He has never been on the receiving end of Deadpool’s temper, and he feels distinctly upset about it. “I have to, Deadpool…”

 

“I told you, I’d go with you,” Deadpool says coldly. “You can’t do it alone.”

 

“You aren’t coming. I’m capable of making my own decisions.” Peter steels himself. “I’m going, and I’m sorry, but I can’t see what it has to do with you.”

 

Deadpool sits up, hands resting lightly on his knees in a deliberately casual pose. “Oh, can’t you?”

 

Peter can’t bring himself to reply. The words die in his throat.

 

“You are very rapidly becoming one of the most important things in my life,” Deadpool tells him, and the gentleness of his words is offset by the harsh tone he says them in. “Being around you is a fucking joy for me. I’m not prepared to let you rush off alone and get killed. It would hurt too much.”

 

Peter has never been on the receiving end of words of this nature. He is shaking, something hot and powerful uncurling in his chest. “I…”

 

“I know you think you’re being selfless. I love that about you. But I’d rather have eight hundred people die than lose you.”

 

Peter finds his voice. “That’s not a very heroic thing to say,” he deadpans.

 

Deadpool shrugs. “I’m not going to let you do this. Not tonight. You know me well enough by now to know that I’m capable of playing very dirty, even to those I love the most. So don’t think I won’t resort to truly devious strategies.”

 

_Even to those I love the most._

 

Peter swallows. Is Deadpool saying… is he…?

 

“Wait. Devious strategies?” Peter raises his hands. “Look, Deadpool, I am really… flattered.” That’s an understatement, but Peter knows if he gives into emotion, he won’t be able to do what he needs to do. “But I’m fucking Spider-Man. If you try to be devious, I’ll just leave you tangled up in web on my sofa.”

 

“While that sounds delightful, I do feel that you’re underestimating me somewhat.” Deadpool hasn’t moved to stand up, but there is something very dangerous in the way he is holding himself. Peter remembers the first time he stood before the merc, remembers the way he had felt so small in comparison. “If at all possible, I hope to simply talk you out of doing anything stupid.”

 

Peter feels his lips quirking up in a reluctant smile. “How?”

 

“I was hoping my proclamation of strong feelings for you would be enough,” Deadpool sighs. “I can certainly offer more romantic words if that would help?”

 

Peter feels his heart race. He can easily imagine what those words would be.

 

“Please,” he says, thinking of Wade and eighty dead people, “please, not tonight. Soon. But not now.” _Soon_. Peter has made a promise to the mercenary.

 

Deadpool seems to realise this, too. “That means you have to be alive for me to tell you.”

 

“I can’t promise that.”

 

“What if I could offer you an alternative plan?” Deadpool offers, leaning forward.

 

Peter hesitates. “I’m listening.”

 

Deadpool stands up abruptly, approaching Peter. Peter has a flashback to the previous evening, when Deadpool stalked him across the bedroom. He tries very hard to stay focused and still.

 

“I can’t die,” Deadpool says for the dozenth time. “If we can transfer Pharaoh’s attention to me, I can kill him.”

 

“No killing-”

 

“- or maim him. Or mildly cut him.” Deadpool shrugs. “Whatever my baby wants.”

 

For the first time this evening, Peter blushes. “I can’t ask you to put yourself in danger.”

 

“There is no danger. I can’t-”

 

“- yes, I know. But you could still be hurt.” Peter frowns. The idea makes him feel uncomfortable.

 

“We can control the situation. We could have the Avengers there to protect me, if you really feel that’s necessary.” Deadpool’s tone makes it clear that he does not feel this is necessary.

 

Peter doesn’t like this plan. It involves too many people he cares about being in danger. He opens his mouth to say so, but Deadpool raises a gloved finger and presses it against his lip.

 

“We all care about you,” he says, “and any one of us would rather that than have anything happen to you. Besides, imagine if Bucky Barnes finds out I was here before you ran off to hand yourself in and I didn’t stop you. He’d break my nose dozens of times.” Peter can hear the grin in Deadpool’s words.

 

“How would we get Pharaoh’s attention to shift to you?” Peter says around Deadpool’s finger.

 

“You’re not going to like this, but we get a photograph published of the two of us together. He knows how to find me, so he’ll come looking for me to ask where you are. Simple.”

 

“Who would care enough about a photo of us together to publish it?”

 

Deadpool laughs. “Baby, we’re two hot, spandex-clad men. If we get on camera kissing, people are going to love it or be outraged by it. I know a guy- Eddie- who works for the Bugle. He owes me a favour. We can ask him.”

 

Peter hesitates. “Let me think about it,” he says, finally.

 

Deadpool still has his finger on Peter’s lips. He cocks his head. “Do you mean that, or is it another blatant, horrible lie? Are you going to go running off the second I take my eyes off you?”

 

Peter shakes his head. “No.”

 

Deadpool sighs in a long-suffering way. “I’m still mad at you, Peter.”

 

“You broke into my house and emotionally manipulated me-!” Peter begins, outraged, but Deadpool replaces his finger with his masked lips, kissing him through the fabric sweetly. Peter sighs, unable to resist the merc’s kiss. “Bastard,” he mumbles, when Deadpool draws back.

 

“If you didn’t like that plan, I was going to tie you to your bed,” Deadpool tells him.

 

“With what? I have super strength.” Peter’s heart is racing, but he manages to get the words out calmly.

 

“I have thought about that, and have the perfect tool for the job,” Deadpool replies, smugly. “However, it doesn’t look like it’s going to be necessary.”

 

Peter makes a disappointed whimper, and Deadpool laughs.

 

“Shall we go get a drink?” he asks, Peter. “I think you have earned one.”

 

“I haven’t done anything,” Peter replies, confused.

 

Deadpool squeezes his hand. “Of course you have.”


	14. Stand By Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been poorly with a migraine and reading your comments has really perked me up :)  
> I think I've replied to them all- thank you so much and I hope you enjoy today's chapter too!

Due to the sheer force of Deadpool's personality, and his depth of feelings for Peter, Peter finds himself removing the Spider-Man suit and hanging it up in his wardrobe before pulling on an appropriate outfit to go out drinking. He has insisted that Deadpool stand outside the door, and he can hear the mercenary through the wood, shuffling nervously, probably still half-expecting Peter to throw himself out the window and go after Pharaoh. But he doesn't. He merely pulls on some jeans and a dark sweater, the combs his hair and opens the door.

 

Deadpool stands before him, staring down intently through the fabric which hides his face. He raises a tentative hand and strokes a finger across the rise of Peter's nose and his cheekbones. “Freckles,” he whispers, as though this is the greatest discovery ever made by man. “You have  _ freckles _ on your face, Peter.”

 

For the first time, the thought comes clearly into Peter's head:  _ Deadpool loves me. _

 

He expects this to be followed by a wave of panic, but it never comes. A strangely contented feeling takes root in his heart, and reaches up to wrap his fingers around Deadpool's and squeezes them gently.

 

“Come on, old man,” he says, softly. “You owe me a drink.”

 

Deadpool makes an almost imperceptible movement closer to Peter, his body language just strong enough to carry a vague threat. They are chest to chest now (although Peter's chest is perhaps closer to Deadpool's navel) and Peter breathes in the manly, overpowering scent of Deadpool. “Old man, is it?”

 

“You told me you were older than me,” Peter manages. This close, his heart is thundering, his body reacting instinctively. It feels as though he is on fire.

 

“It didn't matter last night though, did it?” Deadpool asks softly, lowering his face towards Peter's. “It didn't matter when you were whimpering beneath me.”

 

Peter makes a small, desperate sound. Deadpool laughs.

 

“We're not going to get those drinks if you keep looking at me like that, baby,” he tells Peter.

 

“Looking at you like… what?”

 

Deadpool makes a thoughtful noise. “You have this way of looking up at me with those big fucking brown eyes, like I'm the big bad wolf, but you  _ want _ me to eat you up.”

 

The analogy is strangely accurate, but Peter manages to cock an eyebrow. “Sounds to me like you're projecting your fantasies onto me, Deadpool.”

 

Deadpool pauses, then chuckles. “Perhaps. Anyway, come on.”

 

Peter feels a pang of disappointment. “You don't want to…?” But he can't even bring himself to ask it. His cheeks are aflame.

 

Deadpool takes his hand. “It is safe to assume, Peter, that I am thinking about fucking you at least ninety percent of the time we're together. But now isn't the time.”

 

Peter thinks this is perhaps the most surprising thing Deadpool has ever said, but he doesn't get a chance to verbalise this. The mercenary drags him gently over to the front door, drapes a scarf around his throat, and tugs him out into the corridor.

 

They walk in silence down the stairs and Peter feels no surprise when they walk out into the frosty night to see the cab sitting waiting for them. Dopinder beams at Peter and makes no comment about his identity. Perhaps he doesn't know that Deadpool has been visiting Spider-Man. Deadpool gives Dopinder a nod and they move away from the sidewalk.

 

“How confident were you that you could change my mind?” Peter asks.

 

“Fairly,” Deadpool responds mildly. “That whole 'I've got to do this alone’ act seems really heroic but it falls apart so easily. It's not as appealing as going for a drink with your old buddy Deadpool, is it, my little arachnid?”

 

Peter glares at Deadpool then looks pointedly at Dopinder, but neither of them seem phased at his outrage about his secret identity being so casually referenced. Ultimately, Peter trusts Deadpool, and knows that the mercenary would never endanger him. He imagines having to explain this to Steve and Bucky, and laughs to himself.

 

“I'm glad you're smiling again,” Deadpool says, “even if you're laughing to yourself like a character in a shitty novel.”

 

Peter smiles at Deadpool, too. He's grateful for the mercenary. He wishes things were less complicated between them, wishes he could stop thinking about Wade Wilson and focus on the merc.

 

They arrive outside a dark, dingy looking bar, and Deadpool claps Dopinder on the shoulder before sliding out. Peter follows him.

 

They go down some stairs. The bar is quiet- an old man is dozing off into a pint of beer, and a heavily tattooed woman is using a laptop in the corner. The bartender is a bespectacled guy with a sardonic grin.

 

“Deadpool! Who in the hell is this handsome chap?” he demands.

 

“This is my good friend Peter,” Deadpool tells him, and the man's eyebrows raise. “This, Peter, is my long-term enabler, Weasel.”

 

“Pleased to meet you, Mr Weasel,” Peter says, offering the bartender his hand.

 

Weasel looks at it for a long moment, then up at Peter's earnest face, then across to Deadpool. He laughs loudly, but takes Peter's hand and shakes it. “You are  _ just _ his type,” Weasel says.

 

“Shut up,” Deadpool tells him, warmly. “Get my pal here a beer.”

 

“He’s legally old enough?” Weasel asks, with a twinkle in his eyes.

 

“I’m twenty-one, Mr Weasel, I have ID in my wallet if-”

 

“Fuck,” Weasel laughs, “you can have a beer.” He slides Peter a bottle and turns to Deadpool. “Everything okay, DP?”

 

Deadpool sits down on a stool, gesturing to the one beside him. Peter sits down, taking a mouthful of surprisingly warm beer. Deadpool drapes an arm casually around Peter’s back, and Peter leans closer to him.

 

“Just need a distraction,” Deadpool tells Weasel. “How are things here?”

 

Weasel shrugs. “I’ve spent the day selling shitty, overpriced alcohol to a bunch of morally ambiguous people. It’s been the same as any other day. What’s new with you?”

 

Deadpool squeezes Peter. “Not much. Just the usual shenanigans, and lots of eye fucking.”

 

Peter goes crimson. Weasel reaches over a claps him on the shoulder.

 

“You’ll have to get used to him being literally the fucking worst if you plan on sticking around, bud.” Weasel moves away to clear some empty glasses from the end of the bar.

 

Deadpool leans down, pressing his face against Peter’s neck. “Do you?”

 

“Do I what?”

 

“Plan on sticking around?”

 

Peter swallows a mouthful of beer; he has a strong wave of emotion. “You were furious with me two hours ago, Deadpool. Do you actually want me to stick around?”

 

“I was furious because I thought you were going to go off and get yourself killed, my idiotic little darling.” There is something very serious in Deadpool’s tone.

 

“I’m sorry,” Peter breathes. He rests the side of his head against Deadpool’s face, snuggling close for a moment, enjoying feeling free to do so. “If it makes you feel better, spiders are pretty good at sticking around.”

 

Deadpool leans back, his arm still around Peter. “I did notice you get… sticky. When you’re asleep.”

 

“It’s happened since the bite,” Peter tells him, embarrassed. “I can’t help it. My skin secretes it and it’s quite useful a lot of the time, but I can’t control it when I’m asleep.”

 

“Don’t be embarrassed.” Deadpool is audibly grinning. “I quite enjoy seeing you get all sticky in bed, baby.”

 

Peter gives him a playful shove. “Shut up, Deadpool.”

 

There is a comfortable silence. Peter drinks his beer, feeling almost relaxed wrapped in Deadpool’s arm. The last few days have been shocking and, at times, horrific, but this moment right now is perfect.

 

He knows it can’t last.

 

“What if there’s another bomb tonight and I’m sat getting drunk with you?” he asks.

 

He hears Deadpool swallow. “The Avengers are looking for him. They’re a bunch of boring, self-righteous idiots, but they’re the dangerous sort of idiots. You need to stay out of that sweet Spider-Man outfit until this all blows over, baby.”

 

Peter finishes his beer. “Maybe I had better just stick to one beer, just in case.”

 

“Unless you’ve got the suit under those jeans, you’re not going to be doing any webslinging, Webs. Have another drink.”

 

Weasel reappears as if summoned. “Sure, have another drink, Peter. If you’re going home with this nightmare, you’ll need it, especially if you’re planning on seeing what’s beneath that suit.” He hands Peter another beer and moves away with a wink.

 

“Hey, Deadpool,” Peter says slowly, sipping the beer. “When  _ am _ I going to get to see what’s under the suit?”

 

There is a long pause.

 

“I don’t know if you’d like what’s under here,” Deadpool replies finally.

 

“I like you,” Peter replies, insistently. “You make me feel… well… you turn me on. And I care for you. It doesn’t matter what you look like.”

 

Deadpool pauses again, uncharacteristically thoughtful. “After all this with Pharaoh has blown over,” he says. “I promise.”

 

“I guess that gives me an incentive not to go rushing off to Pharaoh,” Peter replies, drily.

 

Deadpool squeezes him. “I guess so, baby.”


	15. At Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating yesterday- I took a day off to go for Sunday lunch and some wedding planning shenanigans. Hopefully today’s offering will make up for it!

They stumble out of the bar late, so late that the streets are finally growing quiet. Tuesday has become the early hours of Wednesday. A thick blanket of snow carpets the streets; thick, frosty flakes drift down heavily.

 

Peter has his hand in Deadpool’s hand. It feels natural, correct. He is tipsy, smiling up at the mercenary happily.

 

“Shall we just walk back to my apartment?” he suggests.

 

“Are you asking me to spend the night, Webs?” Deadpool asks, with mock outrage. “I am shocked.”

 

“We’ve spent many nights together, Deadpool,” Peter snorts, giving him a shove.

 

“I mean, true. Seeing you all twitchy and sticky and snoring is losing its appeal,” Deadpool deadpans. “I don’t know if I can work up the appetite to do it again.”

 

Peter is feeling playful; he gives Deadpool a moment to think he’s getting away with being mean, then leaps up and wraps his forearm around Deadpool’s neck, locking the merc in a headlock. Deadpool is so much taller than he is that he is on his tiptoes. The mercenary laughs, coming to a stop, allowing this for a second, then he slings both his arms around Peter’s waist, surprising him as always with his strength, and spins, making them both lose their balance.

 

Peter ends up against the nearest wall, his feet off the floor, pressed flush against Deadpool.

 

“Oh, hey,” he says, smiling.

 

“I think I might have found my appetite,” Deadpool tells him, bending his face lower.

 

Peter’s hands move up Deadpool’s muscled, firm chest to the bottom edge of the mask. His fingers ghost over the edge, and he feels Deadpool freeze against him. The mercenary’s hands reach up and wrap like iron vices around his wrists.

 

“What if I just… roll it up to your lips?” Peter whispers.

 

Deadpool exhales, then nods, releasing Peter’s wrists. Peter pushes the mask up, closing his eyes without thinking about it, unconsciously supporting Deadpool’s desire to maintain his secret identity for now. His fingers brush the dimpled skin at Deadpool’s jaw as their mouths meet in a furious, passionate kiss: lips working, tongues sliding against each other, both men panting and moaning.

 

“Will you please fuck me tonight?” Peter whispers when they draw apart for breath.

 

Deadpool pauses. One of his hands feathers through Peter’s hair. “You don’t want to wait until you know who I am, Spidey?”

 

Peter smiles, his eyes still pressed shut. “I do know who you are. Maybe not your name or your face, but I do know what makes you _you_. And I know how you make me feel.”

 

“How do I make you feel?”

 

“Cared for. Cherished. Precious.” The words come tumbling out before Peter can really think about them.

 

Deadpool squeezes his hand. Peter hears him rolling down the mask before he gently steps back and lowers Peter’s feet back to the snowy ground. “Let’s go home, then,” he says.

 

They make the journey in silence, fingers curled tightly together. Peter feels a glowing sort of contentment. How funny life is, how unpredictable and strange. If someone had told him even two weeks ago that he would be walking home holding hands with a mercenary, excited to get home and fuck him, he would have laughed in their face.

 

But now… now…

 

Deadpool has changed his life. The guy is a hurricane, a force of nature. He’s unpredictable and, at times, annoying. But Peter has warmed to him. He finds Deadpool’s particular brand of insanity intoxicating.

 

They reach the apartment building and head upstairs. Deadpool rubs Peter’s shoulders as he unlocks the door and they step inside to his horrifying cold apartment.

 

Deadpool kicks the door shut behind them. They stand facing each other, both waiting for the other to make the first move.

 

It’s so cold that Peter can see his breath. Every nerve he has is taut, his body tingling as he looks up at Deadpool.

 

“You are amazing, Peter,” Deadpool says, finally, in a quiet voice.

 

They come together, and it’s unclear to both who moved first. Peter’s arms are wrapped around Deadpool’s neck, his legs around his waist, and he closes his eyes to push up the mask and kiss him. Deadpool tastes of cold, that snowy, wintery taste you only find in another person’s mouth at this time of year.

 

Deadpool carries him, still kissing, to the bedroom. Peter is aroused, and he can feel that Deadpool is hard, too. Every cell in his body is telling him that this is right.

 

He is placed gently on his bed and then Deadpool pushes him back into the pillows, sitting astride him, their mouths still working furiously. Beneath Deadpool’s impressive, muscular body, Peter whimpers.

 

“This is what you want?” Deadpool asks against his mouth.

 

Peter smiles. “Yes.”

 

“I’m going to be gentle with you,” Deadpool tells him in a low voice, moving so that his bare lips scrape Peter’s ear, the contact making Peter shiver. “Tonight, at least. Can you keep your eyes closed for me?”

 

Peter nods. “I will. I promise.”

 

He keeps his word as Deadpool leans back and begins to undress him. The mercenary is unusually silent as Peter’s clothes are shed. He makes a small noise when Peter is finally naked and shivering in the cool air. There is something very erotic about lying helplessly naked with his eyes closed, aware of Deadpool above him, watching him.

 

“You’re… God, fuck, Peter, you’re amazing,” Deadpool says again, softly, as though he can’t think of any other words.

 

“Something wrong with your vocabulary?” Peter teases, a small smile playing on his lips.

 

His grin turns to a gasp when Deadpool’s gloved hand wraps around his firm cock, pumping gently. “Sorry, Peter, what was that?”

 

Peter lets out a low moan.

 

Deadpool chuckles darkly.

 

Peter lies in ecstasy, his eyes screwed shut, as Deadpool slowly twists his sinfully huge fingers around his throbbing dick. Pleasure builds steadily inside him, and his fingers tangle tightly in the sheet as he bucks his hips to meet the mercenary’s hand.

 

Peter hears the noise of fabric leaving skin, and then the bare fingers of Deadpool’s other hand trail down Peter’s skin, probing at his entrance gently, making Peter whimper. Both hands suddenly leave Peter’s flesh, making him whimper again, this time in frustration. Deadpool laughs fondly, and Peter hears him doing something above him before the finger returns to his entrance, this time oil-slick.

 

It slides in and Peter hisses, the unfamiliar feeling both delightful and disconcerting. He bucks his hips and clenches around the finger.

 

“Is that okay?”

 

Peter nods, unable to form words.

 

Deadpool slowly slides his finger in and out, helping Peter grow used to the sensation. The discomfort is fading now, and Peter reaches down to wrap his own hand around his dick as pleasure blooms within him. Deadpool adds a second finger, then a third, working him open gently.

 

Peter cries out as the fingers grind against his prostate, and he palms himself furiously, vaguely aware of the fact that he is moaning incomprehensibly.

 

He finishes in his hand, shouting out wildly as his whole body quakes in pleasure.

 

“Do you want to keep going?” Deadpool asks him gently, his free hand running lightly through Peter’s hair. “We don’t have to.”

 

“Please keep going.” Peter manages to whisper the words. He feels as though he is floating. Deadpool presses a tender kiss to his forehead.

 

The fingers are pulled out, and then there is the sound of Deadpool unrolling a condom. Peter wonders vaguely if he always carries them in his suit.

 

Probably.

 

Then, the broad tip of Deadpool’s cock is at his slick hole, resting there for a moment. Peter thinks wildly for a moment that it won’t fit, that he can’t possibly please Deadpool like this, but before he can verbalise this, it slides in, slowly, inch by inch, filling him.

 

Deadpool mumbles his name as he impales Peter to the hilt, falling still above him. He lowers his mouth to Peter’s, kissing it, kissing his jawline, his eyelids.

 

“Is this hurting you?” he asks.

 

“A little, but it’s not unpleasant,” Peter manages, giving an experimental wriggle that makes the mercenary hiss.

 

Deadpool begins to move, and Peter’s ability to speak is lost, replaced again with helpless moaning. This is a pleasure unlike any he has ever felt; his fingers fly to Deadpool’s shoulder blades, curling around the spandex tightly. He is probably going to leave bruises- at least, for as long as it will take for Deadpool’s body to heal them.

 

He is surrounded by Deadpool, his eyes closed, breathing in the scent of the man he has fallen so hard for. Deadpool’s mouth is on his throat.

 

His second orgasm takes him by surprise, and he yells as it happens, his legs wrapping around Deadpool’s waist. This is apparently enough to drive Deadpool over the edge, and he swears loudly into Peter’s neck as his body tenses with the force of his own orgasm.

 

They lie together, sweaty, sated. Peter’s pulse slows, his breathing grows steady again.

 

He has lost his virginity, and it was good; it was better than good, in fact.

 

It was perfect.

 

Deadpool stands up shakily, mumbling to himself, leaving Peter cold. Peter hears water running, and then, as he has done before, Deadpool returns to gently clean Peter with a warm cloth.

 

“You can open your eyes,” he tells Peter.

 

Peter does so, and sees that Deadpool is fully attired again, including his mask.

 

“Was that…?” Deadpool clears his throat.

 

“It was great,” Peter replies. “I’d punch you in the arm for being silly if my own arms weren’t jelly.”

 

“Good.” Deadpool lies down beside him, rolling Peter onto his side away from him and embracing him from behind. Peter feels tiny and protected in his embrace. “You don’t regret it?”

 

Peter rolls his eyes. “I swear, Deadpool, you are the most irritating man I have ever met.”

 

“Is that a regret?”

 

“Fuck, no.” Peter hears Deadpool laugh. “No, of course not. You were perfect. You… you are perfect.”

 

“It may surprise you to learn that nobody has ever said that to me before.”

 

Peter squeezes the arm around his waist. “You’re perfect to me, asshole.”


	16. Paradise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some plot here! Sort of!

When the following day dawns, cold and clear and bright, Peter Parker doesn't expect for a moment that it's going to be the day in which he'll learn that Deadpool has been keeping a huge secret from him. He doesn't expect that it's going to be the day that he's going to tell someone that he's in love with them. He doesn't expect that it's going to be the day that he sees a horrific figure from his past.

 

But today is that day.

 

Peter wakes up next to Deadpool, the mercenary curled possessively around him, apparently still fast asleep. Peter rolls over so to face him, aware of the vague aching of his body as he does so.

 

He could roll the mask up. Deadpool is snoring away, quite out of it. Peter could simply reach out and see what is beneath the costume.

 

But it doesn't matter. Peter Parker has fallen in love with Deadpool. This seems ridiculous, especially considering how many other people are in the world, but it's true. And part of that means that Peter can accept not knowing what is beneath that huge quantity of spandex and leather.

 

He shuffles out from beneath the pleasing weight of Deadpool’s arm and reaches for his phones. There is only one message and it’s from MJ:  _ Dinner tonight? Want you to meet my new guy. Bring Wade or DP or whoever the hell you’re dating now. _

 

Peter smiles as he replies:  _ I’ll be there. Let me know when and where. _

 

Wade still hasn’t messaged him. He knows he isn’t being fair expecting a reply, but the other man plays on his mind.

 

“Morning, beautiful,” Deadpool mumbles. “How’re you?”

 

Peter flexes experimentally, twitching his body. “I am largely fine. I hurt in places I haven’t been hurt before.”

 

“Sorry,” Deadpool says, a large hand coming down clumsily to pat his shoulder. “I should’ve been more gentle with you.”

 

“You were more than gentle,” Peter says, rolling his eyes. “I’m not some fragile little flower.”

 

Deadpool chuckles sleepily. He stretches languidly, enormous body sprawling across the bed. “Indeed you aren’t, Webs. What’s on the agenda for today? Anal sex followed by pancakes is my suggestion.”

 

Peter winces. “I don’t think I’m quite ready-”

 

Deadpool laughs. “I’m joking. I promised you an alternative plan and I’m going to sort it today. That guy I know- I’ll have him meet us at my apartment in a couple of hours and we can do what we need to do.”

 

Peter feels a rush of gratitude. He squeezes Deadpool’s fingers. “I… thank you, Deadpool.”

 

“Don’t thank me before you meet the guy, baby. He’s a bit poisonous. However, he owes me one, and I trust him to get it done.”

 

* * *

They shower and head over to Deadpool’s apartment, Deadpool texting away on his phone as they go. Peter is dressed in a hoodie and jeans, the Spider-Man suit in his backpack. Deadpool seems to have no embarrassment about wandering the streets dressed in his costume, waving to people who, in the cold and rational light of day, stare at him like he is a madman. Peter supposes that plenty of them know who he is and (justifiably) find him terrifying.

 

They enter the apartment via the front door to find a cross-looking man sitting on Deadpool’s sofa, arms folded across a broad chest. He has a chiselled face and an unruly shock of hair. He isn’t unpleasant to look at, although he does look as though he could be just generally unpleasant, and Peter wonders how Deadpool knows him.

 

“Deadpool, this better be important,” the man snaps, standing up.

 

“Isn’t it always, pal?” Deadpool asks lightly, going to him to pat him a friendly fashion on the shoulder.

 

Peter swears for a moment that there is something alive in the man’s eyes, something which watches Deadpool’s hand carefully. “Who is this?” the man asks, looking at Peter.

 

“His real name doesn’t matter. This hot little piece of ass is Spider-Man.” Deadpool chuckles as Peter blushes; the man cocks his head at him curiously. “Webs, this is my very good friend Eddie Brock.”

 

“Very good friend,” Brock repeats, raising an eyebrow.

 

Peter shakes his hand, the contact making the hairs on his arms stand on end. Eddie Brock isn’t quite all that he appears to be. Every nerve in Peter’s body is alert.

 

“Why are you introducing me to Spider-Man, Deadpool?” Eddie asks.

 

“You’re going to take a picture of us kissing- Webs in costume, of course- and publish it so that the guy blowing up the city comes after me and I can kill him. I mean… stab him. Mildly.”

 

Eddie crosses his arms. “I don’t do that sort of journalism.”

 

“It’s for a good cause. People will love it.” Deadpool throws a friendly arm around Eddie’s neck, apparently less than affected by the murderous expression on the man’s face. “Plus, you owe me one.”

 

“I do?” Eddie asks, shaking the arm off.

 

Deadpool merely looks at him. Peter looks between them, wondering what on earth is going on.

 

“Fine. Where do you want to do this?” Eddie eventually concedes.

 

“On the roof. I’ll take you up. Webs, get changed and meet us up there.” Deadpool pats Peter on the arm as he sweeps out of the apartment with Eddie.

 

Peter sighs as he gets changed quickly. This isn’t exactly an amazing plan, but they don’t have an alternative. Peter trusts Deadpool, but he isn’t sure he trusts this Eddie Brock character. That said, who else could they ask to do this for them?

 

He climbs out of the window and up the side of the building to the roof in costume, landing lightly next to Eddie, who looks reluctantly impressed.

 

“I can have this up in sixty minutes if you’re sure you want to do this,” Eddie tells Peter, ignoring Deadpool completely.

 

“I think it’s the best plan we have to save the city, Mr Brock,” Peter tells him sincerely.

 

Eddie looks at him for a long moment before laughing. He has a deep, unsettling laugh which rumbles on and on. Finally, he stops and smiles coldly at Peter. “How did you end up mixed up with this useless mercenary when you’re clearly such a good guy?”

 

Deadpool, who is sitting on the edge of the building, sticks his middle finger up at Eddie. “I am a fucking hero sometimes, dickhead.”

 

“Yeah, that’s real heroic behaviour right there,” Peter observes drily, and Eddie laughs that long laugh again.

 

“Right, do you two want to make out so I can get back to my actual job?” Eddie asks, raising a camera.

 

Peter suddenly feels suddenly self-conscious. It’s not like they’ve never kissed, but beneath the curious gaze of this odd stranger, he feels very awkward. A hot blush burns its way up his neck and cheeks. Deadpool stands up, towering over him and taking his hands gently.

 

“It’s okay,” he whispers to Peter. “You need the practice for when we make that superhero porno everyone is waiting for.”

 

Peter laughs despite himself, smacking Deadpool lightly on the arm. “Asshole. Roll your mask up then, creep.”

 

Deadpool tugs the edges of his mask up as Peter does the same, so that they are both exposed up to their noses. Peter hasn’t kissed anyone with his mask on, and feels oddly as though he is straddling his two realities as Deadpool lowers his lips to capture Spider-Man in a kiss.

 

Peter’s arms come up around Deadpool’s neck and he presses himself against the mercenary.

 

“That’s enough,” Eddie says finally, sounding uncomfortable. “I didn’t expect to see you two eating each other’s faces when I woke up this morning.”

 

Peter and Deadpool come apart, rolling down their masks.

 

“Speaking of eating people’s faces,” Deadpool says pointedly, “I’ll buy you a drink when I next see you out and about at night.”

 

This makes no sense to Peter, but it makes Eddie frown. “If you’re going to be a dick, I’ll give it a dreadful and unflattering headline.”

 

“Do it,” Deadpool says cheerily. “The more embarrassing the better here. We need everyone to know. Be awful about me. People like that.”

 

Peter frowns. “Deadpool, you don’t have to-”

 

But Eddie is nodding. “You’re right about that. I’ll send you the photo and have the article up within the hour. It’s been weird, as always. Catch you around!” And then he leaves.

 

Deadpool chuckles to himself, sitting down on the edge of the building. He pats the spot beside him and Peter sits down. His mind is racing. Deadpool must really care about him; he has allowed the lower part of his face to be photographed, despite his self-conscious attitude towards his looks. He is prepared to have Eddie Brock slander him to help Peter.

 

Really, despite his clear insanity and love of murdering people, Deadpool has been nothing but lovely to Peter.

 

Peter thinks about the way Deadpool cheered him up last night, the tender way he took Peter’s virginity.

 

He thinks about how he can’t help laughing at the stupid things that come out of the mercenary’s mouth, and about how, although Deadpool is clearly the most dangerous creature in the world, Peter trusts him implicitly.

 

“What you thinking about?” Deadpool prompts him, tapping his thigh.

 

Peter pulls his mask off and looks at Deadpool’s face, swallowing hard. “My name’s Peter Parker. I study biophysics and I work at the coffee shop just down the road from here. My best friends are called Ned and MJ.”

 

“Why… why are you telling me this?” Deadpool asks, clearly confused.

 

“Because,” Peter says, in a shaking voice, “I trust you. I don’t want you to just know me as Spider-Man. I want you to know  _ me _ and I want to know you. I’m in love with you.”

 

Deadpool freezes. The snow floats around them for a moment, and Peter trembles, worried that he’s made a dreadful mistake. Deadpool reaches his hand out and presses his fingers gently against Peter’s cheek, taking a deep breath before replying.

 

But he never replies, because an explosion in the street below sends both men sprawling off the roof, falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm off on my holidays for a few days now so updates will resume at the start of next week.  
> Follow me on tumblr if you want at lordcoledemort.


	17. One More Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I am back from holiday and should be back to daily updates now. Hope you're all good!

Peter squeezes the web-shooters automatically, one length springing out to attach him six feet down from the roof, the other sticking firmly to Deadpool's outstretched hand; the merc dangles below him, staring up.

 

“Do you think this is…?” Peter asks him.

 

“Let's not assume,” Deadpool replies lightly. “There's more than one villain in this city.” He looks down; in the alley below, glass has blown in from the explosion across the road, and screams echo. “I need to get down there, baby.”

 

Peter has a pang of affection for Deadpool. The mercenary is really starting to show how good he's capable of being. “Careful, Deadpool, your hero is showing,” he says, swinging the arm holding Deadpool so that the much larger man moves up through the air to latch onto his back.

 

“You're so strong, Spidey,” Deadpool purrs in his ear.

 

“Not now,” Peter says, rolling his eyes. He lowers them down quickly, trying to ignore the way Deadpool wraps his thick legs around his waist and clings on.

 

They reach the ground and Deadpool squeezes his shoulders. “You need to stay out of it,” he tells Peter softly. “They're probably looking for you… and you don't have your mask.”

 

Peter realises he's right with a horrified panic; he took it off on the roof and now it's not in his hands. “I have to come anyway-”

 

“Just wait in my apartment,” Deadpool says, and turns to run for the alleyway entrance.

 

Peter hesitates for a moment before following him; the street is chaos. A small café has blown up, and is still aflame. People are gathering, screaming, some already covered in blood. But that's not even the worst part. The worst part is the pair of men clutching assault rifles and standing by the café door.

 

“We are looking for Wade Wilson,” one of them booms into the crowd. “Unless he comes forward, we're going to start shooting.”

 

_ Wade Wilson. _  Peter’s blood runs cold. How did they find out about Wade? Does that mean that they know Spider-Man's true identity? True horror floods through him and he feels guilty. This whole mess is his fault, and now, yet another innocent person is being dragged into-

 

Deadpool produces a gun Peter didn't even realise he was carrying and shoots the shouting guy right between the eyes, dropping him.

 

“Deadpool!” Peter cries, horrified.

 

People in the crowd are screaming even more. The other gunman has turned to see both Deadpool and an unmasked Spider-Man and is raising his gun.

 

“I did not realise you followed me,” Deadpool says without turning around, shooting the second guy just as cleanly in the head. “There possibly would have been less… unaliving if I'd known.”

 

“That doesn't make it better!” Peter snaps, his hands going to his hips.

 

Deadpool waves his hands in a flippant fashion, one hand still holding the gun. He turns to face Peter, exhaling in a long-suffering fashion. “That cock-drizzle wanted to kill  _ Wade Wilson _ of all people, whoever that may be. Presumably a very innocent and unproblematic individual. And that other guy saw your unmasked face…” Deadpool turns his head back to the crowd, who are also turning their attention to the two inept superheroes. Muttering to himself, Deadpool pushes Peter firmly back into the alleyway. “Let me finish off dealing with this and we can argue later, baby.”

* * *

 

Peter calls Wade as soon as he gets back to his apartment, listening in fear as it rings without answer. He's just about to give up and attempt to find Wade when he hears a voice.

 

“Hello?” It's Wade. He sounds distracted. Peter can hear sirens in the background.

 

“Wade, are you okay?” Peter asks, one hand curling around the edge of his desk anxiously.

 

“Yeah, baby, everything is cool here…” Wade trails off.

 

“What are those sirens? Are you  _ near _ the explosion that happened before? Are you hurt?”

 

“I'm… just passing through, Peter. I'm absolutely fine.”

 

“I need to talk to you. Can I meet you later?” Peter asks, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know I said I couldn't see you. I'm not playing games and I'm really sorry. But I have something important to tell you.”

 

There is a long pause. “Sure. What time? I'll head over to see you.”

 

Peter remembers that he promised MJ he'd meet her for dinner. He runs a hand through his hair, feeling overwhelmed. “Late, probably. Ten? Can you just… be careful until then?”

 

Wade sighs. “I can promise to try. Got to go, baby.”

 

Peter hangs up, feeling very unsettled. He leans against the counter, feeling as though he could sleep for a month. Sleeping with Deadpool seems a month ago, not a few hours. He is still cross with his ridiculous lover for shooting two men, but perhaps improving Deadpool's casual attitude to killing will take time. Somewhat ridiculously, what is playing on his mind the most is the fact that he managed to blurt out that he is in love with Deadpool.

 

And Deadpool didn't reply.

 

Furthermore, why the hell is Pharaoh now looking for Wade Wilson? Unless there is something about Wade he doesn't know, the only possible reason Pharaoh would be looking for Wade would be if he knew the connection between Peter Parker and Spider-Man.

 

“Fuck,” Peter mumbles, rubbing his eyelids with his palms, feeling a headache brewing.

 

There is a knock at the door. Peter is wearing the hoodie he wore to travel to Deadpool's, the Spider-Man costume (sadly missing its mask) tucked in his rucksack safely. He hesitates, wondering if he should even answer it.

 

“Peter, it's Tony!”

 

Peter relaxes enormously when he hears Tony Stark's voice through the wood. He exhales, muscles unclenching, and opens the door to see his mentor standing in the hallway, arms folded across his chest.

 

“Well, well, you've been a busy boy,” Tony says, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. He pulls of his sunglasses and slides them into the pocket of his suit jacket. He doesn't sound pleased. “Didn't I tell you to avoid becoming involved with Deadpool?”

 

Peter sighs. He should have expected this. He closes the door, turning to face Tony. “Mr Stark, I know how you guys feel about Deadpool, but he cares for me and I won't let you-”

 

Tony silences him with a raised hand. “I am not your father and have no right to judge the quality of your taste in men, Peter. I won't lie and say I approve, but that's not why I'm here. I want you to explain this.”

 

He hands Peter a tablet from his pocket. A huge picture catches Peter's attention first; Eddie Brock's shot of Deadpool and Spider-Man entwined on the rooftop. They are kissing hotly, and Peter is momentarily enthralled by the picture, marvelling at how small his body looks next to the muscular frame of Deadpool. Deadpool's jaw is uncovered in the photo, the strange texture of his skin revealed. It's familiar to Peter. The headline above the picture reads:  _ Spider-Man Caught In Dangerous Mercenary’s Web Mere Moments Before Explosion. _

 

“Not exactly classy,” Tony observes. “You may notice the reporter is one Eddie Brock. Why in God's name would you work with him?”

 

“He seemed… fine? What's wrong with him?”

 

Tony sighs. “He has a dark side. That's irrelevant right now.”

 

Peter frowns. “How did you know I was working with him? How did you know we did this on purpose?”

 

“It pains me immensely to say this, but you and Deadpool are similarly impulsive and strong-headed. I also suspected that he was the reason why you didn't go to Pharaoh yesterday, so he had to offer you an alternative plan. He wanted to lead Pharaoh to him so he could do what Deadpool classically does and murder him.”

 

Peter is reluctantly impressed. “Sorry, Mr Stark-”

 

“Don't.” Tony has the vaguely disappointed tone he takes so often with Peter. “You aren't to do anything else today, do you understand? No going after anyone. Stay away from Deadpool and let me handle this.”

 

“I have dinner plans tonight-”

 

“Good. Do that instead. Be a normal young man instead of Spider-Man.” There's something else in Tony's voice now, and he pats Peter awkwardly on the shoulder, taking the tablet back. “Just stay safe, Peter.”

 

“I'll try, Mr Stark.”

 

“You aren't safe around Deadpool, kid.” Tony's eyes are serious.

 

Peter sighs. He covers Tony's fingers with his own. “With all due respect, Tony, I don't think I'm ever safer than when I'm around him. He'd die for me. Well… he'd try his best.”

 

Tony's eyes widen. “So it's love. I don't think I'm qualified to deal with that, kid. I'll send Cap around tomorrow, he's good at this emotional stuff.”

 

He turns to leave, putting his sunglasses on.

 

“Mr Stark!” Peter calls, and Tony pauses, looking back at him. “Thanks.”

 

Tony nods. “Just don't do anything stupid, kid.”


	18. Power Play

Peter tries to concentrate on being Peter Parker as he gets dressed for dinner. MJ has messaged him to tell him to be at the Golden Star for eight. He has spent the afternoon in bed, trying to read and relax, but failing to stop his mind racing. He brushes his hair in an agitated manner, trying in vain to make it lie flat; the ends curl no matter what he tries.

Deadpool texts the Spider-Man phone:  _ You mad about the dead people I rendered lifeless before, baby? Also, have you seen that picture of us? Hot stuff. _

Peter smiles despite himself, spraying aftershave on and typing a reply:  _ Yes, I am mad. You know you only get my affection when you manage to resist your constant bloodlust. _

He fastens his tie, wondering how he can manage to scale a building so easily but struggle with a Windsor knot. Finally, he steps back to look at himself in the mirror; he's wearing slim black trousers, a white shirt and a red tie. He looks exhausted.

Deadpool messages him back:  _ I am only feeling one sort of lust, Webs, and it's not for blood. _

Peter snorts, replying as he pulls his coat on:  _ You are the worst. _

He tries not to dwell on the question of whether or not Deadpool loves him back as he goes downstairs, heading out into the icy night. He's decided to walk to the restaurant, the cool air giving him a clear head to think and get himself ready for regular human interaction.

The city is quiet. Peter wonders if people are staying indoors out of fear of Pharaoh's bombs. Lots of people online are calling for Spider-Man to hand himself in. Peter feels dreadful when he thinks about it.

The restaurant is still rather full, and as he steps inside he breathes the warm, steamy air. He looks around for his friends and sees them in a booth; MJ and her boyfriend have their backs to him, but Ned is facing him, waving enthusiastically. He's wearing a loud floral shirt.

This is in stark contrast to the black dress MJ is wearing, and the smart burgundy silk shirt of her partner. As Peter approaches, he can't help but notice the elegant curve of the man's neck. He has sleek, dark hair, elegantly styled, and Peter reaches up to tug at his own wayward hair in a self-conscious fashion.

“Hey, guys, sorry I'm late, I was-” Peter is babbling as he arrives at the table, but the words die in his mouth as he makes eye contact with MJ’s boyfriend.

“Don't worry, Parker, we're used to you,” MJ laughs, looking warmly at him. “This is Peter Parker. Peter, this is my boyfriend-”

“Harry,” Harry Osborn says, a small smile on his lips. His eyes glitter as he offers his hand to Peter. “Harry Osborn. It's  _ so good _ to meet you, Peter.”

Peter swallows. His body feels numb.  _ How _ can this be happening? Harry is supposed to be sectioned. Last time they saw each other, Harry tried to kill him. And yet here he is, smiling, an arm draped around MJ casually. How did he get out? Is MJ at risk? Is his secret identity at risk?

“How- how-?” Peter stammers, before looking at MJ’s face. He can't do this. He can't be the one to ruin this. So he takes Harry's hand and says, “How do you do?” Harry's fingers are warm and rough.

MJ joined their school after Harry had left, and Ned didn't get close to Peter until then; knowing Ned, he probably doesn't remember Harry at all. Peter’s whole body is numb, his lips tingling, and his instincts are telling him to kick Harry’s face, pushing him away from MJ, before capturing him and turning him over to the authorities. But he’s not even using a fake name… so he must be out legitimately.

Maybe he’s better. Maybe he genuinely is over what happened.

Maybe he really doesn’t remember Peter at all.

Peter can’t quite explain what makes his eyes grow wet, but it might be something to do with the images which flash across his mind: images of dorky teen Peter Parker laughing at midnight in Harry Osborn’s bedroom, the pair of them playing World of Warcraft and eating way too much popcorn.

He sits down, his legs feeling remarkably unsteady, and swallows hard, forcing a smile.

“What’s new, Peter?” Ned asks him.

Quite a lot is new, but none of it can really be discussed in front of Harry Osborn. “Not much really. I’ve had a few days off work.”

“You been spending them with Wade?” Ned replies brightly, unaware of the way Wade’s name makes Peter’s stomach curl. “Or with DP?”

“You’re dating two people?” Harry asks with interest, his eyes studying Peter’s face.  _ Stupid Ned. _

“I know, it’s surprising to me too,” Peter replies, with a sardonic smile. “I don’t know why even one person would be interested in me, let alone two.” This is true, and he still questions it about once an hour; Spider-Man is at least a hero, so that possibly explains Deadpool’s initial attraction to him, but both Deadpool and Wade have feelings for Peter Parker, the nerdy little scientist.

Weird.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Harry says quickly, as MJ glares playfully at him. “You’re a handsome guy.”

What a strange comment. Peter can easily imagine his old friend Harry saying something like that in an off-hand way in the many times Peter expressed dissatisfaction with his face and strangely small body. Harry was always tall and full, with a strong jaw and a handsome face. Next to him, teenage Peter Parker always felt inferior.

“Anyway, I’m only dating one of them,” Peter shrugs. “I told Wade Wilson that I couldn’t see him anymore.”

MJ nods, sympathy in her eyes, and Ned claps him in a reassuring fashion on his shoulder. But Harry leans forward, eyes bright.

“The guys you were dating are… Wade Wilson and… DP?”

“I know it’s a weird name,” Ned babbles, “but he’s a superhero and we can’t tell you his real code name, Harry.”

Peter stands on Ned’s foot.

Luckily, the waitress arrives at that moment, looking bored, and asks for their drinks order. They order two bottles of red wine. She doesn’t even bother to write it down, sweeping away without a reply.

“So, how did you two meet?” Peter asks Harry, desperate to turn the attention back onto his former friend.

“It’s funny, really,” Harry says, bending to press a gentle kiss to MJ’s forehead. “I just happened to be outside Michelle’s apartment one morning on my way to the office and we literally walked into each other.”

“You’re right, that is funny.” Could it be a coincidence? Harry Osborn gets released from the psychiatric hospital, apparently gets a job in an office and just happens to bump into Peter Parker’s best friend, despite not remembering that Peter is his former best friend and the man he believes killed his father?

It’s unlikely.

The waitress brings their wine over, and they order their food. Peter’s stomach feels like it is full of lead, and he has absolutely lost his appetite; between this strange and unplanned reunion and his upcoming meeting with Wade Wilson, tonight is turning out to be quite awful.

He takes a long mouthful of wine. The last thing he needs is to get drunk. There is still a high possibility that Pharaoh will attack something else tonight. Peter has his web-shooters beneath his shirt sleeves, but he has lost the mask of his Spider-Man costume. He found an older prototype in his cupboard, and he has shoved this in his pocket, but it won’t be ideal if he has to fight in it.

“Excuse me,” he tells the table.

He stands up and heads for the bathroom. Once inside, he pulls out the Spider-Man phone from his pocket. Deadpool has messaged him:  _ Staying safe, baby? _

Peter feels the pleasant security of being cared for. He smiles despite himself, typing a replying:  _ I am in a restaurant with my friends, and I’m meeting Wade Wilson later to warn him and make sure he’s safe.  _ He doesn’t mention Harry Osborn. He rather suspects that if he tells Deadpool, Deadpool will somehow track him down and kick the restaurant doors open before turning Harry into some sort of human kebab.

He calls Tony.

“Everything okay?” Tony answers, almost straight away. Tony is obviously worried about him; even now, despite their friendship lasting several years, he rarely answers the phone straight away, and Peter often has to call Steve or Bucky if he needs anything.

“I don’t know,” Peter says, honestly. “Something really weird is happening.”

“Something to do with Pharaoh?”

“No. I’m at a restaurant with my friends-”

“- Look, Peter,” Tony interrupts. “I know you’re socially inept. It’s something I find exhausting, although it can sometimes be charming. But we don’t have the sort of relationship where you can ring me for help with communicating like a human.” He is joking, his tone dry.

“Tony, Harry Osborn is here.”

“Ah. Your… friend? The one who knows you’re Spider-Man and tried to kill you?”

“Yes. He’s dating MJ.”

“Having questionable taste in men seems to be a  _ thing _ in your friendship group,” Tony sighs. “Well, we would have heard if he’d broken out. I’ll check and see what’s going on, but I assume he’s been released legitimately.”

“He… he doesn’t seem to remember me.” Peter cringes as he hears the sadness in his own voice.

“Well, that’s a good thing, Peter,” Tony says gently. “You know what happened wasn’t your fault, right?”

It definitely was, but Peter only sighs. “Thanks, Tony. I’ll talk to you later.”

He isn’t exactly feeling better when he heads back out. Harry’s bright eyes track him across the restaurant. He forces a smile and sits down again.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” Ned asks him. “MJ and Harry are spending it together! Isn’t that romantic?”

Peter hasn’t even thought about this. Christmas is in a couple of weeks. He usually spends it with Aunt May, but he thinks about Deadpool spending the holidays alone in his messy apartment and frowns despite himself. The idea of inviting Deadpool up to meet his Aunt is ridiculous. The Avengers usually have a big thing during the holidays, since so many of them have no real family or friends outside. Peter has a long-standing invitation, but he supposes Deadpool probably doesn't. That said, it seems that Steve Rogers tries to lure Deadpool into joining them frequently, so perhaps he does. Peter pictures Bucky Barnes’ face if he had to sit across from the mercenary during Christmas dinner.

Hilarious.

“I haven’t really thought about it yet,” Peter shrugs.

“All of this violence in the city is making it feel less than festive,” Harry observes, sipping his wine. “It’s worrying.”

“Agreed,” Peter says.

“So, Harry, what do you do?” Ned asks.

Harry looks uncomfortable. He glances at MJ, then down at his wine glass. “I inherited my father’s business. I took a few years… out, but I’m just starting to take it over.”

Interesting. Peter sighs, thinking of the damage that company- and Harry’s father- did to both of their lives. He finishes his glass of wine and Ned pours him another. Is it really possible that Harry doesn’t remember Peter? The curl of his arm around MJ’s shoulders seems genuine.

The waitress brings their food over, and as Peter looks at the steaming pile of cheese-covered pasta, his stomach turns.

“What do you two do?” Harry asks Ned and Peter.

Ned swallows a mouthful of lasagne before replying. “I’m still at college, just like these two. I work in the little cafe next door to where Peter lives.”

“Yeah, I’m studying biophysics. I work in a coffee shop.” Peter thinks about telling Deadpool these things earlier in the day, the way Deadpool had never been able to react to Peter telling him that he loves him.

They finish the meal, Peter feeling distant and distracted. Ned and MJ laugh loudly at Harry’s stories, all of them smiling, and Peter tries to join in, but he feels dreadful.

After the last mouthful is finished, Peter reaches for his wallet. “I’m really sorry, but I have to run,” he says.

“Late night DP session with DP?” Ned asks, drunk, laughing at his own joke. MJ throws a breadstick at him.

“Put your wallet away, Peter,” Harry says, firmly. “This is my treat.”

“You have got my vote of approval, Harry!” Ned laughs.

Peter feels distinctly uncomfortable with this, but he doesn’t have time to argue. The time he is supposed to be meeting Wade at home is approaching. “Next time is on me, then,” he offers, standing up and reaching for his coat.

MJ stands up and kisses his cheek. “Hope everything is okay,” she whispers in his ear.

Ned claps him on the shoulder. “Take it easy, man.”

To his surprise, Harry stands up and reaches for his own coat. “I need to call a client. I’ll walk you out, if that’s okay?”

Peter supposes it will have to be. His body tenses, but he nods, and the pair of them walk towards the exit of the restaurant. They did this countless times as teenagers, walked side by side, usually laughing at something ridiculous. Peter almost wants to reach over and take Harry’s arm as he would have done when they were kids. It’s strange.

They step outside into the cool air.  Harry stops, and he frowns.

“Look,” he says, “I know it’s not my place, but you need to speak to… DP and Wade. There’s something  _ they _ haven’t told you.”

Of all the things Peter was expecting Harry to say, this wasn’t it, and he feels a suspicious stab of horror. “I…”

“I know we don’t know each other, and we’re not friends, but I’d like us to be,” Harry says earnestly.

This statement is so bizarre that Peter almost laughs.

“Just speak to him.” Harry puts his hand on Peter’s shoulder, gently.

It is only after Peter has nodded numbly and started to walk away that he realises that Harry didn’t specify which  _ him _ he needs to speak to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDDIE BROCK and HARRY OSBORN? Crikey, it’s almost like I’ve decided to make this a trilogy and I’m planting the seeds for the next two parts early...
> 
> Thanks to Verany for giving me some tips on formatting this, hopefully this chapter looks a bit better!


	19. Everlasting Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before our BIG REVEAL of this chapter I just want to say how much I appreciate and love all of you for reading, commenting and generally keeping me going with this. It started off as a single scene I couldn't get out of my head and has turned into this little beast. And now we're nearing the end (although there's a little bit left to do) and I'm planning the sequel.
> 
> Much love.

Peter calls Deadpool as he walks home.

“Hey, baby,” Deadpool answers. “Everything okay?”

“I…” Peter pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t think so. Did I tell you about Harry Osborn?”

Deadpool makes a thoughtful noise. “I don’t think you did, but I think maybe I read about it. The scientist’s kid, the one who tried to kill… Spider-Man… you?”

“Yeah. He was my best friend when I was kid.” Peter pulls his coat more tightly around himself. “He thinks I killed his dad. I didn’t. It was an accident, but it was sort of my fault. Anyway, he tried to kill me and then got sectioned.”

“He’s fucking lucky I didn’t-”

“He’s out, Deadpool. I saw him tonight. He’s dating my friend MJ.”

Deadpool makes a humming noise. “I left my swords at home, but I’ll go get them if you need me to.”

Peter laughs despite himself, turning into his street. “I love that your first instinct is to kill everything and wonder if it was the right decision afterwards.”

“That’s not true,” Deadpool replies drily. “I never wonder if it was the right decision.”

They both laugh. How crazy is it that Peter now finds joking about murder with Deadpool soothing?

“You said you left your swords. Are you out?”

Deadpool sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, there’s something I had to do.”

“You have things to do that don’t involve stabbing?”

“Yeah. Sometimes they involve shooting.”

They both laugh again. Peter feels a strong longing to be near Deadpool.

“I have to see Wade tonight. Wade Wilson. I don’t know if you figured it out, but the guy Pharaoh is demanding to see is the guy I was dating when you and I were first…” Peter’s voice trails off. He clears his throat. “I don’t want you to feel threatened or anything. There’s nothing going on. I… I meant what I said this morning.”

He can almost hear Deadpool’s smile. “You said many things this morning, baby. _My name is Peter Parker. You’re so fantastically strong, Mr Deadpool. I’m in love with you, Deadpool._ ”

Peter swallows. He is at the entrance to his building. He pauses. “Oh. Well, I meant that last one.”

“I know.” Deadpool sounds gentle. “And… whatever happens tonight, I want you to know that I really, really love you, Peter Parker.”

Peter closes his eyes, joy flooding through him. He’s not exactly surprised to hear his feelings are reciprocated, but it is certainly nice to hear. Then he frowns. “What do you mean, whatever happens tonight? Deadpool?”

But the mercenary has already hung up.

Peter puts his phone into his pocket and enters the building, climbing the stairs with the frown still etched onto his face. What on earth is Deadpool up to? He thinks again of Harry’s weirdly cryptic warning about Deadpool and Wade Wilson. It’s hardly surprising that he has heard of Deadpool, but how on earth would Harry know Wade?

There is clearly something more going on here.

Sitting outside of Peter’s door, cross-legged on the floor, is Wade himself. He looks as lovely to Peter as he always did, bright hazel eyes staring hungrily at Peter. He’s wearing a black hoodie over black jeans, a soft smile on his face.

“Thanks for coming,” Peter says, unable to stop a smile tugging up the corners of his own mouth at the sight of Wade. He offers his hand to the older man to help him to his feet, and Wade takes it, the warm, calloused fingers wrapping around Peter’s hand very familiar and soothing.

“Anything for you,” Wade says gently.

Peter unlocks his door, gesturing that Wade should enter. He feels something akin to nervousness, and his senses are on edge. Something is _wrong_ here. Is it Wade? Was Harry right?

He follows Wade inside and closes the door, taking his coat off and tossing it down on the couch. Wade makes no movement towards the sofa, his hands shoved in his pockets, looking vaguely worried now.

“You said you had something to tell me?” Wade asks, finally.

“Do you want a drink first? This might be a little surprising,” Peter replies.

“Sure,” Wade says, shrugging, a small smile on his face again. “You look great in that outfit, Peter.”

Peter ignores his compliment, crossing to the fridge and retrieving two bottles of beer. He opens them both and hands one to Wade, standing next to him and taking an awkward mouthful of alcohol.

“So…?” Wade prompts, his own beer ignored in his hand.

“I… I’m Spider-Man,” Peter says, the words sounding ridiculous as they come out. He blushes despite himself. “I assume you don’t know that. That’s why I had to stop seeing you.”

Wade cocks his head, those bright eyes calculating. He takes a small drink and places his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “You did the right thing.”

“But now Pharaoh knows about you. I don’t know how. And you might be in danger. You need to get out of the city for a bit.”

Wade exhales. He steps away from Peter, turning to rest one hand on the wall, looking away from Peter. He looks… ashamed. There are shadows beneath his eyes, and his mouth is turned down in a frown.

Peter feels his stomach twist uncomfortably. His senses are screaming out that _something is wrong._

“Look,” Wade tells him, taking a shaking breath, still not looking at Peter. “I did know that you’re Spider-Man. And I know how Pharaoh knows about Wade Wilson. In fact, I think you’re the only person who _doesn’t_ know about Wade Wilson, Peter.”

Peter takes a step towards him, his fingers curling around his web-shooters automatically. He feels numb. “What… what are you telling me, Wade?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I really hope you’re not going to be angry with me.” Wade swallows. His eyes are wet. “It started as a bit of a joke. But then… well, I assumed you’d figure it out. And you didn’t. And then I fell for you.”

Peter swallows. “I don’t understand.”

Wade looks at him then, his eyes burning. “I meant it when I said I love you, Peter.”

“But you never said-”

A gun goes off. Wade shoves him, hard, and as Peter stumbles, horrified, his natural agility already working to right him, he feels the bullet which would have pierced his chest drag painfully across his bicep, hitting the wall behind him with a loud crack. A white hot pain blooms in his arm and he feels his flesh split.

Wade is staring at Peter’s bedroom door, which has swung open to reveal Antonio Pharaoh, who is glaring out, a pistol pointing at them.

“So, you’re Spider-Man, are you?” Pharaoh sneers at Peter. “I don’t know why but I expected someone a little older.”

“Don’t be a dick, Pharaoh,” Wade says, in a dark tone Peter hasn’t heard from him before. It’s familiar. “This doesn’t have to be unpleasant.”

Peter glances at Wade. _How_ does he know Pharaoh?

Did Wade betray him? Did Pharaoh send him Wade in the first place? Peter frowns, but this doesn’t make sense.

“I think it probably _will_ be unpleasant,” Pharaoh says with a nasty smile. “For you, at least.”

“Why are you here?” Peter asks, panicking, thinking about how he can put himself between Wade and the gun. His arm is stinging, and he can feel blood running down his sleeve. It is agonising.

“I followed Wade Wilson here. I saw he’d been kissing Spider-Man in the paper.” Pharaoh pulls a disgusted face. “I wasn’t impressed by it, if I’m honest.”

But it was _Deadpool_ who had been kissing Spider-Man in the paper. “But _he_ wasn’t-”

Wade produces a knife that Peter didn’t even realise he was carrying. He is going to throw it at Pharaoh, a snarl twisting his face. Peter reacts automatically, pushing Wade hard, and the knife goes wild, slamming with force into the wall beside Pharaoh’s head.

“For fuck’s sake, Webs,” Wade says. They stare at each other for a moment, and Peter feels his mouth go dry. _Webs_ is the nickname Deadpool has for him. Does Wade know about Deadpool? Have they been working together? Peter steps towards Wade, reaching out for him...

Then Pharaoh shoots him in the head.

Peter cries out, horrified, as Wade crumples to the floor, blood and brain matter spraying up the wall. He turns to Pharaoh and shoots web at him, but the slimy bastard has already turned and fled. Peter hesitates, considering following him, but he looks down at Wade’s dead form and feels a powerful sob rise in his throat.

He drops to his knees beside the body, thinking of last time he did this, when it was Deadpool’s dead body lying in front of him. That feels like years ago. He cries, horrified, tears burning his eyes as he gropes uselessly for a pulse he can’t find.

Wade Wilson is dead, and it’s Peter’s fault.

Guilt and loss overwhelm Peter, and he stays there for several minutes, just crying and holding Wade’s cold fingers. In another life, this might have been the man he ended up with.

Finally, he starts to feel reason coming slowly back. He has lost a lot of blood; a glance at his left arm is not comforting. He needs help. The man lying cold and dead before him on the floor was someone who was quite clearly not honest with him, but Peter had been very close to falling in love with him, and he surely didn’t deserve to be killed because of his relationship with Spider-Man.

Peter remembers the feel of Wade Wilson’s arms around him, the sound of the guy’s laugh, the way he had been so sweet even when Peter was useless with him.

This is his fault. This is yet another death on Peter’s conscience.

Yet another person he cares about gone because of him.

Peter can’t form a coherent thought.

He realises he’s groping in his pocket, pulling out the phone he had been talking on mere seconds before meeting Wade tonight. He redials Deadpool’s number on autopilot, pressing the phone to his ear and hearing the click of the connection, before it starts to ring.

And, very strangely, a phone in Wade’s pocket starts to ring.

Peter hesitates, then reaches into the dead man’s pocket. There is something soft and familiar wrapped around his phone, and when he pulls his fingers out, he’s holding his own Spider-Man mask, the one he lost this morning on Deadpool’s roof.

A horrified understanding is starting to dawn on Peter.

He reaches back in, pulling out Wade’s phone. It’s still ringing, the name on the screen reading _Spidey Baby (Secretly Peter)_.

Peter’s fingers are shaking. Can it possibly be… is Wade Wilson…?

But doesn’t it make sense? Isn’t it obvious? The way he felt for both men, the powerful attraction to them both.

They even look the same, don’t they? Huge lumps of men with ridiculous muscles and visibly damaged skin, their bodies covered in scarring.

Peter groans. He just assumed he had a type.

And he supposes that’s true. It’s just a far more specific type than he previously believed.

He rejects the phone call and scrolls through the history on the phone. The other frequently contacted person is _Peter Parker (Secretly Spidey)._

His own messages to both men fly past his eyes as he scrolls down. His heart is thundering. He is vaguely aware that this is not going to help the situation of him bleeding heavily out of his arm.

_“And… whatever happens tonight, I want you to know that I really, really love you, Peter Parker.”_

Peter remembers Deadpool’s words on the phone. He had been planning to tell him tonight.

Peter swallows, placing Wade’s phone down next to his mask. He stares at them both, understanding washing over him like a cold wave. He feels numb. He feels horrified. He feels _furious._

“So,” Deadpool asks, without opening his eyes. “On a scale of one to murderous, how angry are you?”

Peter stares at his face. Of course. Of _fucking_ course. How on earth did he not figure it out? It’s so ridiculously obvious.

“You absolute _motherfucker_ ,” Peter says softly.


	20. Mercy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love you all.  
> Thank you for all your comments.

Wade Wilson opens his hazel eyes slowly, tentatively, as though he expects to see Peter holding a gun to his head. Peter has, in fact, not moved, still sat on his knees beside him, Wade’s phone and the Spider-Man mask on the ground beside him. Wade opens his mouth to say something, but the words apparently die in his throat as he catches sight of how much blood there is on Peter.

“You’re bleeding, baby,” Wade says.

“A helpful observation,” Peter replies drily. His hands are still shaking. He is replaying every single interaction he has ever had with Wade Wilson, either as Wade or as Deadpool, and wondering how exactly he managed to miss what is extremely fucking obvious. It must have been  _ hilarious _ to the merc. Stupid, naive little Peter Parker.

Deadpool- Wade- insisted that he loved Peter earlier this evening. But is that even true? Was Peter just a game to Deadpool? He doesn’t want to believe it, tries to focus on the soft touches and sweet words the mercenary offered him, but the idea is there, nagging at the back of his mind.

“Look, you can be as mad with me as you want later, Peter, but you are literally  _ dripping _ blood on the floor.” Wade reaches for him, and somewhere through the fog of his rage, Peter realises that his duplicitous lover must still be in quite a lot of pain. That thought isn’t enough to stop him pushing Wade’s hands away- hard.

“If you touch me, I’m not going to be responsible for what I do,” he tells Wade in his firmest voice.

Wade’s expression is almost enough to break Peter’s cold, angry heart. He looks down, then bites his lip. “Well, will you do me a favour and take your shirt off? We need to see what’s going on with your arm.”

Peter wants to argue, but Wade is right; his fingers are starting to feel cold, which he knows isn’t a good sign. He pulls his tie off then begins to struggle with the buttons. His hands are trembling too much. “Shit,” he mumbles, as he realises this is bad.

“Fuck,” Wade replies, and ignores Peter’s threat, reaching out and grabbing his shirt collar in both hands, tearing the garment open, the buttons scattering on the floor. He pulls the ruined fabric off Peter’s body and they both look at the worryingly deep wound on the top of Peter’s bicep. The bullet went clean through, piercing the wall behind him, but his flesh still has a sizeable gash in it, blood still pouring out of it.

“Well, that’s not ideal,” Peter says. He feels wobbly.

Wade is pulling off his hoodie, revealing a plain t-shirt beneath, balling the fabric up. He presses it firmly against Peter’s arm, his other hand coming to rest against Peter’s face. Peter wants to push his hand away, but can’t resist the urge to turn his face into it, taking some comfort in Deadpool’s touch. “How do you feel, baby?” Wade asks him.

He feels clammy, his head weak, his eyes blurry. “I feel fucking furious, you bastard,” he says.

“Not about me, Webs.”

“Oh. Well, in that case, I feel fucking fantastic.” And with those sarcastic words, Peter Parker faints.

* * *

Peter wakes up feeling like shit. He is lying down in a soft bed, and he can feel the comforting beeping of hospital equipment. He tries to open his eyes, but his eyelids are too heavy.

There are voices nearby: two men, talking in hushed, angry whispers.

“- you almost got him  _ killed _ with your idiotic plan! You are an absolute liability!”

“He’s okay, isn’t he? I would never let anyone shoot him, for fuck’s sake. And the plan wasn’t idiotic. I just didn’t expect Pharaoh would follow me so quickly. I wanted to be ready as Deadpool, not Wade Wilson. He just caught us having a heart-to-heart.”

“For fuck’s sake! When Tony gets back here, you better be ready for him to kill you, asshole. He’s going to be furious with you for this.”

“He can be as furious as he wants. I’d cheerfully murder you all. I’d easily murder this entire fucking  _ universe _ , you tin-armed bastard.”

“You fucking-”

There is the sound of a scuffle.

“Look, the only thing stopping me pulling this trigger is Peter. He’s already disappointed in me and he likes you for some reason. So that makes us friends.”

“We are not  _ friends _ , you fucking maniac. Where were you even carrying that gun?”

“I am a resourceful man, my bad-tempered pal. Now, are you going to stop being a dick?”

“It’s not me who dragged Peter into this mess! I’m not the dick!”

“There is perhaps an argument to be made that I have been, on this occasion, a dick. But I love Peter. You know what it’s like to love someone and see them get hurt, so can you just be  _ nice _ , Buck, just for ten minutes?”

Peter loses consciousness again.

* * *

The next time Peter wakes up, he sits up with a gasp, panic flooding his body. His heart is pounding. Where is he? What happened? Did Wade kill Bucky?

“Hey,” comes a soothing voice from his bedside. “Hey, you’re okay.”

The room is dark, and Peter takes a moment to adjust. He looks over, his hand over his racing heart, to see Wade sitting in a chair at the side of the bed. Wade looks terrible, dark smudges beneath his eyes. He is wearing the same clothes he was wearing in Peter’s apartment.

“Where are we?” Peter asks, and his voice is hoarse.

“Avengers Facility,” Wade says, and his tone betrays his relief that Peter is even talking to him. “Turns out the Avengers have your apartment bugged and an alarm gets triggered when there are certain sounds. The gunshot set it off, and about two minutes after you passed out, the Winter Asshole and the Incredible Sulk kicked your door down. Barnes and Banner drew the short straw and brought us back here, and the rest of your Avengers pals are out looking for Pharaoh.”

That makes sense. Peter hopes everyone is okay. He looks down at the bandage on his arm. It still hurts, but not as much, and he trails his fingers across it.

“I heard you,” he says slowly. “I heard you arguing with Bucky before.”

“Yeah. He’s never been my biggest fan.”

“Did you  _ pull a gun  _ on him, Wade?”

Wade at least has the grace to look a little ashamed. “He was getting on my nerves,” he says quietly.

“You didn’t…?”

“No. Fuck, no. I wouldn’t shoot one of your friends, baby. I have many flaws, but that’s not one of them.”

Peter exhales, shaking his head. “No? Well, that just leaves the other twelve thousand flaws, then.”

Wade snorts. “Guess I deserve that.”

“We are  _ not _ okay,” Peter tells him firmly. That doesn’t even begin to cover it. He thinks again of the way he had been so consumed by guilt when he was involved with both Wade and Deadpool. “I don’t know why you didn’t just tell me the truth. I am so clearly in love with you.”

“It was funny right up until it wasn’t. Then I was scared you’d kill me.”

“I haven’t ever killed anyone.” Peter smiles reluctantly. “But I can understand why people are always so desperate to do it to you.”

Wade laughs. He reaches over and brushes Peter’s fingers gently, just for a moment. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“We have got bigger problems,” Peter sighs, rubbing a hand through his tangled hair. “Now Pharaoh knows who I am- if he doesn’t know my name yet, he knows my face, and it’s not going to take him long to figure it out. My friends, my Aunt May… they’re at risk, Wade.”

“That’s my fault,” Wade says, rubbing his face. “I’m going to kill the fucker. I just wanted to make sure you were awake first.”

“You can’t kill him,” Peter says, automatically.

Wade sighs in a long-suffering way. “You’re such a nag, baby.”

“Shut up, Deadpool,” Peter replies, leaning back, suddenly exhausted. “Wade, even. Hell, I don’t even know what to call you.”

“Well, I’m Wade Wilson, often known as Deadpool, so you can call me either of those things. Or maybe we can think of some more interesting things for you to-”

Peter is seriously considering abandoning his own stance on murder and attempting to suffocate his irritating lover with a pillow when the door opens, letting in a bright light. Bruce walks in, looking typically tired, dressed in a white shirt and black trousers.

“Hey,” Peter says. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

Bruce bites his lip and looks emotional for a moment. “I would be… that is to say, I’m just glad you’re alright. The monitors said you were awake so I came down to check on you.”

“Does he need more painkillers? Another blood transfusion?” Wade asks.

“For the last time, Wade, I’m not that sort of doctor,” Bruce says, frowning at him.

“Another blood transfusion?” Peter asks. “I’ve already had one?”

“You lost a lot of blood,” Bruce tells him, coming over and standing by the bed. “It wasn’t an overly complicated injury, but you sustained quite a lot of blood loss before we got you back here.”

“You sure do you sound like  _ that sort _ of doctor,” Wade mutters.

“Well, I’m going to go and save all of my friends,” Peter tells Bruce. “Do you think I’m well enough to-?”

“You are not well enough to leave this bed, let alone this building,” Bruce tells him firmly.

“But-”

“Bruce is right,” Wade says, and he takes Peter’s hand in a firm grip. “You lost lots of blood like five hours ago. You need to rest. Let me go and kill him.”

Bruce cocks his head, his eyes on their entwined fingers; despite the fact that he thinks he could cheerfully skin Deadpool alive, Peter hasn’t moved his hand away from Wade’s. “I find myself in the unusual position of agreeing with Wade, Peter. Not about the killing thing. But you are in a building filled with the Avengers. We can handle this.”

“With all due respect,” Wade says. “I’m not letting you idiots sort this out.”

“Says the man who got us into this situation,” Bruce replies mildly, raising his eyebrows.

Wade sighs.

“Stop it,” Peter snaps. “Look- let me talk to Tony. Where is he?”

Wade and Bruce look at each other, both suddenly looking sheepish. Peter looks between them, panic building again.

“What?” he demands. “What-?”

“He got shot,” Bruce tells him. “He’s absolutely fine.”

Peter feels all of the blood drain out of his face. This is his fault. This whole stupid mess is his fault. He  _ has _ to fix it. “Where is he?”

“He’s in surgery at the moment,” Bruce says, and his voice cracks a little, betraying emotion he clearly wanted to hide.

Peter feels tears building up in his eyes. He looks at Wade, desperate for some comfort, and Wade squeezes his fingers.

“I have a suit and some weapons here,” Wade tells them both. “I’ll suit up and go sort this mess out. It will take me an hour or two.”

“We don’t even know where Pharaoh is- and what do you mean, you have weapons here? Where?” Bruce looks horrified.

“Oh please, I’m practically an Avenger,” Wade says lightly. “Cap texts me every time you guys have a fight. He’s desperate to get this sweet ass on the team. So I didn’t think he’d mind if I stashed some gear up here, just in case.”

Someone clears their throat at the door. Peter and Bruce, who are frowning in bewilderment at Wade, turn to see Steve himself, standing there with his arms folded across his armoured chest. There is a bloody gash on his face.

“I don’t even know what part of that to correct first,” Steve says, “but you know you’re always welcome up here, Wade. It’s good to have you here.” He makes eye contact with Peter and inclines his head slightly.

Peter feels gratitude to Steve; poor Wade has been nothing but ostracised by the others. He possibly deserves it, but still.

“How are you feeling, son?” he asks Peter.

“With all due respect, Sir, I feel ready to go and sort out this mess,” Peter replies, steadily.

Wade groans.

“I suspected that would be the case. Get dressed. We’re meeting in fifteen to make a plan.”

“I remember why I’m not an Avenger,” Wade tells them all. “I can’t cope with this amount of sheer fucking earnestness.”


	21. ... Baby One More Time

[He's taking it very well.]

{He even said  _ I love you. _ }

Wade isn't stupid enough to think that Peter isn't furious with him. He knows that his selfless little love is just postponing the inevitable argument so that he can focus on saving the city. It's sweet, but it's also infuriating; Wade is still terrified Peter is going to leave him, ask him to never speak to him again, change his mind about loving him.

And really- why wouldn't he?

Deadpool is not even worthy of being pals with Spidey, let alone being in a relationship with him.

Wade has to make this right. He can't lose Peter. He's in love with the little nerd.

This all started as… well, what did it start as, exactly? Deadpool was paid to kill the little shit. But something else happened when the sticky hero started making him laugh. And then… when he thought Wade was dead… and took his mask off… Wade fell for him. That only got stronger as they started to spend more time together. What the hell was he thinking when he decided to risk all of that? He has to save this.

Peter held his hand, even smiled at him. Those have to be good signs.

Wade wants to tie the self-righteous, sticky hero to the bed, but he can see the determination to follow Steve in his eyes. Steve and Bruce leave them alone, and Peter tries to climb to his feet. He's visibly wobbly on his legs. Wade reaches out for him, taking his arms firmly in his hands, sighing at the way Peter stiffens beneath his touch.

“Where are my clothes?” Peter asks, realising that he's only wearing the soft jersey trousers Bucky found for him when they first brought him in here.

“Covered in blood, baby,” Wade tells him, and the words come out oddly thick. He had been in a huge panic by the time they got Peter back here, shouting and raving at Bucky Barnes. The thought of Peter being hurt because of him…

[It's inevitable, though, isn't it?]

Peter gives him a dark look but doesn't reply. Instead, he reaches for the blanket he was lying on, wrapping it around his naked torso. He looks pale.

{You know exactly what he's going to do.}

Wade does know exactly what is going to happen next. It's clear from the determined set of his chin and the fact that he has attempted to solve this issue by himself once before. Wade was able to distract him and take him for drinks, but he's fairly sure that won't work this time.

“I'm going to run on ahead,” he says without thinking, and Peter gives him a suspicious look. “Well, we don't want them to know we're  _ together,  _ do we?”

Peter pulls a face which suggests that he thinks this comment is as stupid as Wade does, but he's also clearly used to Wade being ridiculous, so he simply shrugs. Wade also suspects that he also wants some space from his lying lover, which hurts, but he can't blame him.

He runs out of the hospital room, bounding up the stairs towards the meeting room. Staff members look surprised to see Wade Wilson sprinting through the building, especially out of his usual outfit. He doesn’t have time to worry about the carefully cultivated image he’s worked on, though; he has to save Peter. And the city. But mostly Peter.

He slides into the meeting room in a way he feels must look rather cool, skidding to a stop right in front of Steve Rogers, who raises an eyebrow. Other fans of Wade in the room include Bucky Barnes, who is probably still in a mood because Wade pulled a gun on him before, Clint Barton and Bruce Banner. Natasha Romanoff is there, too, but she was supportive of him last time they met, in her own weird way, so he doesn’t feel as disliked by her.

“I have perhaps mere seconds to tell you this,” Wade tells them dramatically. “So are you listening?”

“I hate it when you’re like this,” Bucky sighs.

“Like what? No, wait, tell me later,” Wade says, quickly. He needs to stay focused. “Do you guys all accept that I love and adore Peter Parker?”

“I feel that  _ accept _ isn’t quite the correct word,” Clint replies. “But we’re certainly aware of it.”

“So you all know that I have the absolute best interests when it comes to him?” Wade continues, looking around intently at them all.

Natasha is the one who replies. “We know you do, yes.”

“I know this is asking you to go against your instincts, but I need you to follow my lead when he gets here.” Wade hopes his tone conveys how serious he is about this. “He’s going to offer to go home and lie down or some similar bullshit, then go after Pharaoh himself.”

“How do you know-?” Steve asks, frowning, but Wade raises a hand.

“Please. I love the guy but he’s got a real martyr complex.” Wade shakes his head. “Anyway, we need to let him do it.”

“What? Are you  _ insane?” _ Bucky snaps. “I mean, I know you are, but fucking hell, Wilson.”

“Just trust me,” Wade says. “Please.”

“I trust him,” Natasha tells the others, her bland tone leaving no room for humour.

Clint sighs, cocking his head and looking thoughtfully at Wade. “Me too,” he says reluctantly.

Peter enters at that moment. He is visibly weak, struggling to stand. He looks even smaller than usual wrapped up in that blanket. His cheeks are pale, and he looks suspiciously at Wade for a moment before heading over to sit beside Bucky, the little traitor. Bucky even gives Wade a smug look. Wade fights the urge to roll his eyes.

“We need to stop Pharaoh,” Steve booms.

“I assume we have a plan?” Clint asks, leaning forward.

“We’re going to take it a block at a time to find him,” Steve sighs. “I know it’s not ideal, but we’ve not turned up much of use. We raided the warehouse previously used by Pharaoh and ran into about fifty mercenaries and a load of high-tech automatic weapons.”

“I think Peter needs to rest,” Wade announces, and everyone looks at him.

“Me too,” Clint agrees, in an artificially bright voice.

Peter blinks, staring hard at Wade with an expression he can’t read. Then he covers his bandage with his other hand, pulling a tragic face that almost makes Wade laugh out loud. “Yeah, guys. I am feeling pretty rough. Maybe I can just go lie down and join you later?”

“That sounds great!” Wade replies. “Finally, a sensible suggestion, Webs. Dopinder can take you home, if you want? He’ll be in the parking lot.”

Peter frowns. He clearly expected more resistance to the idea of him going off by himself. He almost looks hurt. “Sure, if that’s okay?” he asks. He looks around the room, but his eyes focus quite heavily on Wade. Even though he’s probably still thinking about murdering his dishonest lover, he’s still bothered about what he thinks. It’s sort of sweet.

“Absolutely,” Steve agrees. “You have been shot, son. There’s no shame in going to have a rest.”

Peter stands up. He looks around at them all again, apparently still in mild disbelief that nobody is trying to stop him.

“See you later, pal,” Bucky says.

“Give us a second, Avengers,” Wade says, and he slips his arm around Peter’s shoulder and steers him out the room, closing the door behind them.

Peter shrugs his arm off, staring up at him with a dark expression. “Look, Wade… I just…” The little git thinks he’s going to sneak off to Pharaoh and very likely get himself killed. He’s still mad at Wade, but he doesn’t want to say goodbye in a bad way.

Wade sighs fondly. “Just go home and rest, baby boy. No Spidey antics. I’ll see you later.”

Peter looks hurt and confused, but he rearranges his face into an innocent expression. “I promise I’ll just rest,” he lies.

Wade smiles. “For the record, I am very sorry about not telling you the truth. But we can talk about it later.”

Peter is clearly thinking there’s not going to be a later. He blinks. “I might be mad at you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you, Wade.”

“I get the feeling you’re going to be saying that a lot in our life together, Webs.”

“Our life together?” Peter repeats mildly, raising an eyebrow.

“We can talk about it later,” Wade says, hoping that there is a later in which Peter is feeling less furious with him. He gently brushes Peter’s hair back from his forehead, smoothing his fingers across the soft, messy tufts. “Go rest.”

Peter nods. “Bye, Wade,” he says, and his voice is thick. He stumbles off.

Wade returns to the room with the Avengers, smiling. They are staring at him.

“How did you know he’d try to hand himself in?” Clint asks, sounding reluctantly impressed.

“Honestly, don’t you guys watch films? Peter’s the hero. He’s going to try to save everyone by sacrificing himself.”

“If he’s the hero, what does that make you?” Bucky asks.

“I’m the redeemed villain,” Wade says, confidently.

“This is all well and good,” Natasha interrupts, folding her arms. “But what on earth do we do now? Our plan was literally to go block by block. If Peter gets taken, we need to be able to find him.”

Wade smirks. “I have two solutions to offer.”

Bruce Banner speaks for the first time since Wade first entered the room. “Of course you do.”

“Firstly, I just stuck a tracker to Peter Parker’s somewhat messy hair,” Wade tells them with a grin. “It’s going to be in there until he takes a shower.”

“You are the worst boyfriend imaginable,” Clint says.

_ Boyfriend.  _ Wade frowns, mulling the word over, and decides he likes it. “Inarguably, yes. My second contribution is to remind you that this all started because Antonio Pharaoh called me and offered me a big chunk of cash to kill Spider-Man.”

“You are  _ honestly _ the worst boyfriend imaginable,” Natasha sighs.

“You’re missing the point.” Wade opens his arms wide, a confident gesture. “I have the guy’s phone number. Surely we could just track his phone?”

The assembled Avengers all look rather impressed with him for once.

“That’s certainly possible, Deadpool,” comes a voice from behind him. “And what do you propose we do once we find him?” Wade turns to see Tony Stark standing in the doorway, looking pale and tired after surgery, but still managing to give Wade his typically disappointed expression.

“The guy wants to kill Peter,” Wade replies darkly. “I propose we kill the fucker. Maybe kill him slowly. Maybe kill him, drag his ass back out of hell, then kill him again.”

Tony looks torn between his disapproval of Wade’s methods and his obvious approval of the strength of Wade’s feelings for Peter. He nods, then hands Wade a small, metal box.

“What’s this?” Wade asks, turning it over in his hands.

“We took it from Pharaoh’s warehouse. It’s part of a computer he was using to collate information on Peter.” Tony sighs. “Look at the company name on the bottom.”

Wade does so, frowning as he sees it.  _ Oscorp.  _ “Like… Osborn? Like Harry Osborn?”

It’s Natasha who replies. “There’s something bigger going on here, Wade.”


	22. Careless Whisper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one today, but I like the suspense, so sorry!

“Is Wade always so…?” Peter loses the trail of his sentence, thinking numbly about Wade. He loves him, obviously, but he thinks that he might also want to murder him. What was the point of keeping his identity secret? Peter sighs.

Beside him, Dopinder clicks on the indicator as they turn into a street of heavy traffic. “Mr Pool is just his own person. He's… not like other humans.”

Peter glances at Dopinder. “That's one way of putting it. How'd you get this gig, anyway? Does he even pay you?”

Dopinder shrugs. “Sometimes,” he says.

Peter has the Spider-Man costume on within four minutes of climbing out of Dopinder’s cab. His heart is pounding, his fingers trembling. He has to do this. He can't let anyone else get hurt for him.

He can't believe Tony got shot. That's on him, too.

He rather thought that Wade would figure out that he wanted to hand himself in and try to stop him, but his ridiculous lover didn't seem to realise. Peter can't lie and pretend he's not hurt by that, but he supposes that there's a lot going on, and it's easier for Wade if he thinks Peter is having a good little nap rather than strolling into mortal danger.

He heads for the window, pulling down his mask, and then pauses. Can he really do this without saying goodbye to Wade?

He sighs, going to retrieve his phone (he considers grabbing the Spider-Man phone for a moment but realises with a bitter laugh he's been texting the same number from both) and wondering what to type.

Finally, he has composed a message: _ Wade, you're an absolute asshole but I love you and I'm glad I know you. I'm going to find Pharaoh, and I hope that you are busy annoying the Avengers at the moment and won't read this until after I've handed myself in. I'm hoping I'm going to be able to fight my way out but if not I want you to know that the time we've spent together has been the best of my life. _

He's crying, sniffing helplessly beneath his mask as he presses send. It's true. Wade Wilson has been a source of irritation and stress, but he adores him.

Time to focus. He needs to draw attention to himself. Leaving his phone on his bed, he climbs out of the window and shoots some web across to the rooftop opposite, swinging down the street. He normally tries not to be so obvious in broad daylight, but he needs people to see him now. As he swings round the corner, he can see people down at street level taking his photograph and pointing up.

He continues his journey. He has no real end point in mind, but he needs to create enough of a buzz to ensure that Pharaoh's men are on him.

Finally, he drops down onto a busy street, standing in the middle of the road. Cars stop around him. His feels sick, exposed; people on the pavements stop and stare at him.

“Don't do this, Spider-Man!” an old woman shouts at him.

He wants to run away. He wants to run to her. But he forces himself to stay still, waiting. The traffic is thickening on either side of him now, a street brought to a standstill by him.

He doesn't have to wait a long time. Two enormous, armoured black vans sweep around the traffic of each side of him, stopping close by. He raises his hands to show that he intends to be compliant, and his arms tremble when he does so.

Heavily armed men leap out of each van, all wearing heavy masks over their faces. He finds himself surrounded by twelve assault rifles. He doesn't move.

“You handing yourself in, asshole?” one of the men asks, approaching him. Peter is pleased to notice the way the man tenses as he reaches for him, clearly expecting a fight.

“Sure,” Peter says, and his voice comes out confident and bright despite his fear. “I hear Antonio Pharaoh’s desperate to see me.”

The man wraps his hand around Peter's upper arm, making him hiss as pressure his pressed against his gunshot wound. The man makes a sound like a chuckle as Peter cringes away from his touch. He drags Peter towards one of the vans, tossing him in the back of it; Peter hits the floor hard and groans.

Two men climb in the back with him and the doors are slammed shut. He sighs as the van starts to move.

One of the men holds the gun on him while the other one reaches for him, tugging his mask off first and looking down into his face.

“You're just a  _ kid,”  _ he says with disgust.

“I'm twenty-one,” Peter snaps.

“Get him out of that suit,” the guy with the gun says.

“What sort of abduction is this?” Peter asks, far more cockily than he feels.

The guy who took his mask off smacks him hard across the face, and Peter feels his lip burst. There's blood in his mouth. His face stings. He tries not to retaliate; he could so easily take out both of these men, but he has to get to Pharaoh to stop his attacks on the city.

So he stays still and quiet as the guy pulls the suit off him, leaving Peter naked and shivering in the cold. He looks forlornly as his web-shooters are placed on top of his suit.

“Hawk, did we bring anything else for the kid to wear?”

The guy with the gun- Hawk- shakes his head. “I don't think he's going to need clothes much longer, West.”

West snorts. “True. Your little Avengers pals aren't going to be able to find you, kiddo. We've got some shit-hot blocking technology in these vehicles.”

Peter licks the blood off his chin. “It's Deadpool I'd be worried about,” he snarls. He doesn't really imagine that Wade's going to be able to save him, but there's no harm in threatening it.

“That maniac?” West says, and he looks over at Hawk. Peter can't see their faces but he can sense the mild discomfort the men feel at the mention of his dangerous lover.

Good. They might have left Peter no choice but to hand himself in, but that doesn't mean he has to make them feel comfortable about them.

The van seems to be heading down a steep hill, and the men ignore Peter. He's lying on the floor, cold, his split lip stinging. He must be covered in his own blood. He feels that it's pointless to try to hide his nakedness from the two men, but instinct makes him curl in on himself. He tries to stay calm. Whatever awaits him at the end of this journey is going to suck, but freaking out isn't going to help. He imagines, for a moment, Wade's fingers brushing through his hair, soothing him.

The van stops abruptly, and Peter is hauled off the floor like a sack of potatoes, dragged out by West. They're in a dark bunker of some description. There's the distant sound of water. Peter wonders if they're under the river.

Pharaoh stands before him, flanked by guards. He smiles in a nasty way at Peter.

“That looks like a nasty wound,” he sneers, looking at the bandage on Peter's arm. There's fresh blood on it. It must have been knocked while he's been being manhandled.

“I've had worse,” Peter retorts.

Pharaoh merely grins. “We can rectify that, you ridiculous child.” He turns to West. “Take him to the room we prepared for him. I'll be along soon.”

Peter shivers as he's dragged off towards a huge, metal door. Hawk goes ahead of them, pulling the door open so that West can drag him inside.

It's not looking good in there. There's a chair in the middle of the room, wrist and ankle shackles attached. And, perhaps worse than this, there's a coffin in the corner, standing on a glass table.

Shit.

He's dragged across the room, his feet off the floor, and West dumps him in the chair, securing his wrists and ankles. He gives an experimental tug against them, but it seems that whatever they're made of isn't going to budge even for his super strength.

“Have fun, kid,” West smiles.

Then they leave, slamming the door behind them, and Peter is left alone.


	23. Glorious

Peter swallows, hard. This is the very definition of 'shit’. He has absolutely no idea what his next move should be. Presumably Pharaoh's going to come in here and hurt him. Judging by that coffin, he's not planning on letting Peter walk out.

If it's going to stop his reign of terror… if it's the only way… Peter swallows again. His chest hurts. His split lip is still stinging, blood falling down his chin and chest.

He is shaking. It's cold, and he's terrified, and he tries to think of Wade for comfort.

Wade's going to have received his message by now. By the sounds of it, there's no way this place can be tracked, but he's damn sure that Wade's going to be trying. The rest of the Avengers will be trying, too. Maybe they'll be able to find him. Maybe they won't. Either way, nobody else in the city is going to die for Peter.

The door opens, and Pharaoh comes in. Peter can hear him breathing hard, clearly excited.

“Well, well, well,” he says.

Peter forces a grin. “Seriously?  _ Well, well, fucking well?”  _ He imagines Wade's own sarcastic response to Pharaoh's ridiculous, overly-dramatic villain behaviour.

“So cocky for someone with literally no hope,” Pharaoh says, circling around Peter without touching him.

“Look, I handed myself in because you said you'd stop blowing people up if I did. If you're going to kill me, just get on with it. I can't deal with this 'I’m so evil’ bullshit.”

Pharaoh hits him hard in the back of the head. “You sound scared, Spider-Man.”

Peter hisses in pain. “I am scared. I'm scared for you.”

Pharaoh stands in front of him, looking down at him furiously. “Why would you be?”

“By my last count, I've stopped Deadpool killing you twice before. If you kill me, there's going to be nothing standing between you and the end of his sword.”

“You think I fear him?”

Peter swallows. All he can taste is blood. “I think that, if you don't, you really, really should, Mr Pharaoh.”

Pharaoh regards him thoughtfully for a moment. “When I offered that idiotic freak money to kill you, I didn't think he'd end up fucking you, instead.”

He wants Peter to be upset at his uncouth language, but Peter keeps a straight face. “He's unpredictable, Mr Pharaoh.”

Pharaoh snorts. “It's irrelevant, my foolish little friend. Once I have what I need from you, you're going in that box over there, and I'll be protected from him.”

Peter pauses. “Wait. I thought this was about your wife.”

Pharaoh smiles nastily. “It was at first. I was so angry. But someone's watching you, Peter Parker. They want something from you. They agreed to help me in exchange for me getting it.”

Peter swallows. “Who?” he asks.

Pharaoh laughs. “It's hardly going to matter to you.”

He reaches into his pocket and Peter's eyes go wide as he produces a tourniquet.

“No,” he mumbles.

It's all so clear to him. Someone wants his  _ blood.  _ They want to study what makes him different from other people and replicate that for their own wicked ends.

“You can't,” Peter says. He's distantly aware of the fact that he sounds desperate now.

Pharaoh laughs. “Oh, you're going to bleed, Mr Parker.”

There's a bang from inside the coffin.

They both turn to look at it. Peter  _ knows  _ exactly what is about to happen but it still doesn't make any sense to him.

The lid flies off, streaking across the room and colliding loudly with the wall. Deadpool sits up, gun in each hand.

“Threaten to touch him again and I'm going to kill you,” he says, and the words are cold.

“Wade…” Peter breathes, and despite everything he feels a rush of pure joy at the sight of him.

“My guards are outside. You'll never escape!” Pharaoh snarls.

Wade snorts. “I brought the rest of the Avengers with me, dickweed. Listen hard and you can hear the sound of your men getting fucked up.”

They all listen, unable to resist the instruction evident in Wade's commanding voice. Sure enough, although the door is thick, they can hear gunfire.

“How did you find this place?” Pharaoh asks. He's close to hysteria now.

“I have your phone number, you piece of shit. We tracked your phone. I also planted a tracker in Peter's hair.” Wade looks at him then, and although he's masked, Peter knows he's being given an apologetic look. “This bunker has enough shielding to block the signal so we just checked where your phone last was and tracked down this bizarre underwater warehouse. We made sure we were hidden before you morons got back with my boyfriend. Easy, really.”

“Fuck you!” Pharaoh says. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a gun, moving it towards Peter's head…

Wade shoots him clean through the forehead.

“Wade!”

“I warned him, baby boy.” Wade sounds at least a little apologetic as he leaps out of the coffin. He shoves his guns away and rushes towards Peter.

“Thanks,” Peter sighs. He owes Wade his life.

Wade reaches out for him, gently brushing his forehead. “You okay, baby boy?”

“Well, I'm chained naked to a chair and bleeding, Wade.”

“Yes, and we all know it's an image I'm going to be touching myself to later, but let's get you out of here.”

Wade kneels next to the chair, and Peter feels him tugging at the chains.

“It's no good. I'm stronger than you and I couldn't get out of them. No idea what they're made of,” Peter sighs.

“You're stronger than me?” Wade scoffs. “We can argue about that later. Why don't we try pulling them together?”

That's not a bad idea, and Peter concentrates hard, pulling against his restraints as Wade does the same. There's a long moment in which it doesn't seem that the chains are going to break, but it happens all at once.

Peter tries to stand and his body immediately topples, exhausted from the physical strain it's been through. Breaking out of those bonds is the last strenuous thing he's going to be able to do for a while. Wade grabs him, pulling him close.

“Hey,” he says.

“Wade, I don't feel great,” Peter says. He's clinging onto Wade.

Wade scoops him up into his arms, bridal-style. Peter feels like he might faint.

“At least you didn't die a virgin, Peter,” Wade tells him brightly.

“I'm not a virgin, as you well know, asshole.”

Wade cradles him close. “Perhaps we'd better go again just to be sure.”

“Fuck you,” Peter says fondly.

Wade laughs and carries him towards the door. He pulls it open, somehow carrying Peter with just one arm. He pulls out a gun with his free hand and looks out carefully.

It's absolute carnage. The armoured trucks are on fire. Tony is in the Iron Man suit, kicking a pair of armed guards like a pair of footballs. Most of the other guards are on the floor, either knocked out or surrendered, and Steve, Bucky and Natasha stand over them.

“Thank God you're okay,” Natasha says when she sees Peter.

“I think we're pretty much done here,” Bucky tells Wade, and Peter notices there's something different in the way he's speaking to him; it's still not friendly, but it's not disrespectful, either. “Bruce has got a car just outside. Take Peter back to him and we'll follow after we've dealt with this.”

“Sure,” Wade says, and he avoids calling Bucky any insulting nicknames. Peter looks between them, confused.

Wade holsters his gun and carries Peter carefully out through two main doors which are standing open. They're in a tunnel, and Peter can see it sloping up towards daylight. There's a small yellow car sat waiting. Bruce Banner sits beside it, as naked as Peter, looking sick.

“I feel overdressed,” Wade quips.

Bruce looks up and him and manages a queasy smile. “You okay, Peter?”

Peter nods. He doesn't feel physically good at all, but it's over, and it seems to be because of his formerly foolish lover. “What happened to you, Dr Banner?”

Bruce clicks his tongue. “The other guy… he saved your suit, though, Peter. It's in the boot.”

Peter feels oddly touched. “Thanks, Dr Banner.”

Bruce nods. He looks at Wade. “I don't think I can drive.”

“I'm not sure I can, either, from a legal point of view,” Wade says, and Bruce rolls his eyes. “Get in the back and I'll get us back.”

So Bruce climbs into the back seat. Peter tries hard not to look at his naked body. Wade places him in beside Bruce.

“I feel like this is the start of some awesome porn film,” Wade says. He's clearly loving this, the bastard.

Bruce glares at him. He finds a blanket on the floor and drapes it over both of their naked bodies as Wade climbs into the front. Peter closes his eyes as they drive away.

* * *

Peter's in Wade's bed when he opens his eyes. It's dark. He sits up, confused.

“Hey, baby,” Wade whispers, and Peter realises he's lying next to him. As his eyes adjust, he realises that Wade is as naked as he is.

“Wade, why are we here?”

“I thought you might appreciate some quiet before dealing with the rest of us Avengers. I told the others we'd go over tomorrow.”

Peter laughs despite himself. “The rest of  _ us _ Avengers? You decided to join up?”

Wade rubs his back gently. “I don't think they'll be able to cope with me for long, but I've officially had an adventure with them now.”

“You  _ saved _ me. I mean, you also bugged me and let me think you didn't care if I ran off and got abducted…”

“Of course I saved you. I love you.”

Peter tries to remind himself that he is still furious with Wade. “I love you too, even if you are an asshole.”

“Good, because I am.” Wade pulls him close. “I am sorry for not telling you the truth.”

Peter sighs. “I know you are.”

There's a comfortable silence for a moment. Wade's hands are wrapped tightly around Peter.

“Peter, if you ever try to hand yourself over in some ridiculous display of martyrdom again, I'm going to be cross,” he says finally.

“That's fair.”

“I'm serious. Your life matters to a hell of a lot of people. Speaking of which, your Aunt May called me before.”

Peter almost leaps out of the bed in horror. “What? Why?”

“She saw you get abducted on the news. She contacted Tony and he gave her my number. She's nice.”

Peter has no doubt now that he'll be getting a very curious phone call tomorrow.

“Go to sleep, Peter. We can sort out all the loose ends in the morning.”

Peter snuggles back into him, too tired and comfortable to resist this idea. “Wade?” he asks, sleepily.

“Yes, baby?”

“You called me your boyfriend before.”

Wade kisses his forehead. “So I did.”

“Am I?”

“My boyfriend? Only if you want to be. Nobody would blame you if you didn't want to, least of all me.”

Peter smiles in the dark. “That's true. You're a dick. But fuck it, let's do it anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring a very good joke DittyWitty made in the comments on yesterday's installment.
> 
> Two chapters left!


	24. Feliz Navidad

Peter wakes up to the powerful aroma of frying bacon. He sits up, glad to find that his body seems to be feeling a lot better, and rubs a hand through his tangled hair. Wade isn’t in bed, but Peter can hear him singing to himself in the kitchen.

He sighs. All of this madness isn’t over yet, is it? Pharaoh wanted his blood for  _ someone else.  _ That doesn’t seem good. But it’s over for now. Peter needs to rest.

He slides out of bed, shivering as the cold air touches his naked body. A soft, silvery light fills the bedroom, and a feeling that is very close to contentment washes over Peter. He stands up and grabs one of Wade’s t-shirts from the floor, pulling it over his head and breathing in the familiar scent. It’s too big for him, but it’s soft. He finds a pair of sweatpants which hang ridiculously on his body and heads out into the living area.

Wade is frying bacon, naked except for a small pair of black underwear. Peter watches him for a moment, admiring his enormous, strong body. He’s thinking about the first time they met, when Wade emptied an entire pistol clip at him. And now… now they’re a couple. They’re in love.

Wade’s a huge asshole, but he’s  _ Peter’s  _ huge asshole.

“Morning, beautiful,” Wade says, turning to him with a smile.

Peter smiles in return. “Morning. How are you?”

“I’m very good. Didn’t even get shot in the head yesterday, and I managed to save you.” Wade turns the bacon over. “Want some coffee?”

“Yes, please,” Peter says.

Wade pours some from a pot. He approaches Peter and hands him the mug, their fingers brushing for a second. Peter smiles up at him. Wade bends down and kisses him, gently; he tastes of peppermint.

There’s a knock at the door.

Wade stiffens. He strides to the counter and opens the top drawer, pulling out a gun. Peter rolls his eyes at him.

“Do you think it’s… a bad guy?” Peter whispers.

There’s a second knock.

“Only one way to find out,” Wade says, brandishing the pistol, and heads over to the door.

He pulls it open, and the two people standing there take a step back from the huge, almost-naked guy waving a gun out at them. It’s MJ and Ned.

“Wade, wait,” Peter says, rushing forward and pushing Wade’s arm down, so that the gun is resting against his thigh.

Wade looks at him, puzzled.

“Peter, we were so worried about you,” MJ tells him, in a tone which suggests that she’s not happy with him. “We saw on the news that you handed yourself in.”

Peter cringes. “I’m sorry, guys. I had to. I couldn’t let anyone else die for me. I’m fine, though- Wade and the Avengers saved me. Oh! Wade, this is MJ and Ned. Guys, this is Wade Wilson, also known as Deadpool.”

MJ and Ned look between Wade and Peter with curious expressions.

“How did you know to look for me here?” Peter asks.

“We were at your apartment and Clint Fucking Barton turned up!” Ned exclaims, eyes bright with excitement.  _ “Hawkeye,  _ Peter!”

“Yeah, I know who Clint is, Ned.”

MJ rolls her eyes at Ned. “Anyway, he gave us this address and told us to look for you here. He didn’t mention it was Deadpool’s address.”

“That’s the sort of thing he’d think was funny,” Wade sighs, in a long-suffering fashion. “He’s very immature in that way.”

Peter nudges him. “Shut up, Wade.”

“Do you two want to come in?” Wade asks MJ and Ned, surprising Peter with a show of good manners. “I promise I’ll put my gun away. And put a shirt on.”

They come inside, and Wade closes the door behind them before heading into his bedroom to find a shirt. MJ and Ned are staring intently at Peter, both of their mouths hanging slightly open.

“What?” Peter asks.

“Wade is…” MJ begins.

“I think MJ’s trying to say he’s very muscular,” Ned says seriously.

Peter snorts. “Guys, don’t be weird.”

“I can’t believe I can now say Deadpool’s threatened me with a gun,” Ned gushes.

“You’re such a dork,” MJ says, shaking her head.

Wade comes back out wearing jeans and a black jumper. He looks at them curiously, and all three of them dissolve into laughter. Wade rolls his eyes.

“Coffee?” he offers.

“No, we probably can’t stay,” MJ says. “I told Harry I’d see him today, and Ned has work.”

Peter sees Wade pull a face when MJ says Harry’s name, and remembers that he told Deadpool about Harry Osborn and their history. He still hasn’t worked out what, exactly, is going on with his former friend, and he’s too exhausted to worry about it now. He doesn’t seem to be dangerous for MJ; they’ve spent a lot of time together, already, and he hasn’t tried to hurt her. Peter doesn’t trust him, but he knows he needs to give him a chance.

“We need to get up and see Tony and the others, anyway,” Peter tells Wade.

“We just wanted to make sure you were alive,” MJ says. “And to remind you that if you ever pull another stunt like that again, all the web in the world isn’t going to save you from me kicking your ass, Parker.”

“Noted.”

Ned and MJ both hug Peter, and hug Wade for good measure. Peter watches him look startled as his friends throw their arms around him.

When they’ve gone, Wade pokes the bacon. “It’s… overdone, baby.”

Peter laughs. “We can just pick something up on the way.”

Peter doesn’t have any clothes to wear other than Wade’s. His Spider-Man suit sits folded carefully on the bedside table, but he isn’t in the mood to put it on. He decides to just head up to see the Avengers in his current baggy outfit. Wade lends him some Converse which are a few sizes too big, meaning that he has to wear three pairs of socks.

They head downstairs and climb into Dopinder’s cab. Peter is starting to really wonder how the guy always knows when to be available for Wade.

They’ve just pulled away when Wade’s phone rings. He smiles apologetically at Peter and answers it. “Hello, Wade Wilson, incredibly deadly and sexy mercenary. Oh… hi, Peter’s Aunt May. I’ll just stick him on.”

Peter is scarlet, his mouth hanging open in horror. He takes the phone from Wade. “Hello, Aunt May.”

“Peter, thank God! I was so worried about you.”

Peter feels a stab of guilt. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. You were in danger, and so were my friends.”

Aunt May does not sound impressed. “I am sure I speak for all of us when I say we don’t mind being in danger for you, Peter.”

“I’m fine. Wade saved me.”

“Yes, well that brings me onto my next point.” Aunt May takes a deep breath, and Peter stiffens, preparing for her judgement. “Wade Wilson is Deadpool, the mercenary?”

“Yes.” Peter is looking at Wade. He doesn’t look much like a mercenary at the moment; he is leaning forward to talk to Dopinder, bouncing his shoulders in time with the music on the radio. “But he’s not-”

“And he’s your boyfriend?”

Peter swallows. “He is. And he isn’t-”

“You need to bring him for Christmas.” Aunt May’s words are firm and final.

Peter laughs in delighted surprise. “I’ll ask him. Thank you. I’d better go, Aunt May.”

“Sure, sure. See you next week, Peter. Love you.”

“I love you, too,” he tells her, then hangs up.

Wade takes his phone back, concern evident on his face. “Everything okay, Webs?”

“Yeah. She just wanted to tell me off and invite you for Christmas.” Peter smiles. “I don’t think you can refuse her. She’s way scarier than anyone else we know.”

* * *

Steve is waiting outside for them. He’s wearing jeans and a blue shirt, his arms folded across his chest. He’s smiling at them.

“I’m so happy you’re okay, son,” he tells Peter, pulling him in for a hug. Peter holds him tightly. “What you did was very stupid, but it was selfless.”

“Thanks, Captain Rogers,” Peter replies.

Steve looks at Wade carefully, apparently trying to decide if he should offer him a hug or not. He settles on a handshake, which Wade accepts. “You know you’ve always got a place here,” he tells Wade again.

“I’m thinking about it,” Wade says, with a sincerity which surprises Peter.

“I wanted to invite you both… Buck and I are…” Steve clears his throat. “We’re getting married the Saturday before Christmas- this Saturday. We decided not to tell people until quite close to the time so that we could avoid any incidents. But if you’re both free…”

Peter is grinning. A real sort of joy is unfolding in him. “That’s  _ amazing  _ news, Steve!” he gushes.

“You’re sure your angry life partner wants me there?” Wade asks, doubtfully.

Steve surprises them by laughing. “Yes, I’m sure, Wade.”

Wade looks at Peter. There is a strong emotion on his face. Peter smiles at him, encouragingly. He realises that Wade has been shunned and alone for a long time, although a lot of it is probably his own damn fault. But now he’s being accepted by people, and it’s almost too much for him.

“We’d love to,” Peter tells Steve, and he reaches over and squeezes Wade’s hand.

“Tony’s waiting for you inside,” Steve tells them.

They head inside, still holding hands. Peter looks down at their clasped fingers, and he feels a real happiness bubbling away. The world isn’t perfect, someone wants his blood for God only knows what, but he has Wade.

“Are you alright?” he asks Wade.

“Peachy keen, Webs. Just think I’d better warn you that I’m not good at weddings.”

“Do you get emotional?” Peter teases.

Wade snorts, looking down at him fondly. “I get very rowdy.”

“I don’t think I want to know what you mean by that.”

Tony is waiting for them behind his desk, standing up with his arms folded, staring down at something small and silver. He looks up when they enter, a smile brightening his features. He reaches out for Peter, pulling him into a hug.

“Kid! You’re looking better.”

“I’m feeling better,” Peter tells him.

Tony eyes Wade thoughtfully. “We have your moronic mercenary boyfriend to thank for that, I think.”

Wade blinks. “Thanks, I think, Stark.”

Tony nods. “Well, the good news is that Pharaoh is out. Done. We’ve rounded up what’s left of his men and they’re off to prison. The bad news is that he was working for someone else.”

“Yeah,” Peter says. He remembers the wild panic he felt when Pharaoh threatened to take his blood. He swallows. “Whoever it is wants my blood. Like, literally.”

Tony nods. He rubs at his goatee with one hand, the other one lifting the small silver thing he was studying before they entered. “None of his men seemed able to give us the name. We haven’t been able to find out who it is. There’s only one piece of evidence.”

He holds out the box to Peter, who feels a sense of dread as he takes it.

_ Oscorp. _

“You think it was Harry Osborn,” he says, numbly. He feels Wade’s hand come down comfortingly on his arm.

“We can’t be sure. The fact that he had Osborn’s tech could be a huge coincidence,” Tony says. “But we’ve got to consider the possibility that it wasn’t.”

“So what should we do?” Wade asks. “Kill him?”

“Wade,” Peter groans.

“We can’t do anything without evidence,” Tony says. “And right now we don’t have enough. I managed to get a hold of the papers from the doctor who released him, one Dr Hamilton. He was sectioned because he tried to kill you, Peter, and because he kept raving that you were Spider-Man and had killed his father.”

Peter feels an uncomfortable pang of guilt.

“Well, Hamilton wrote in his suggestion that Osborn be released that he no longer believed those things; in fact, he doesn’t seem to remember the incident- or you- at all.”

There’s a long pause.

“That’s suspicious, right?” Wade asks.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Yes, that’s suspicious, Wade.”

Peter exhales. He is thinking back to his days as a young kid, hanging out with Harry and laughing. He misses him, and he hates the thought that it’s his fault that Harry’s father is dead. “We need more evidence,” he says, finally. “I messed up his life. I’m not going to risk doing that more until we know for sure.”

“So our plan is…?” Wade prompts.

“To wait.” Peter is firm.

Tony nods. “After all, it’s Christmas. We’ve all earned a little break. I very much doubt you’re getting anything from Santa, Wade, but you can still have a few days off from wanton murder.”

Wade sighs. “Tis the season and all that, I guess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One to go!


	25. For Once In My Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'I’ll keep you safe  
> Try hard to concentrate  
> Hold out your hand  
> Can you feel the weight of it  
> The whole world at your fingertips  
> Don’t be, don’t be afraid  
> Our mistakes they were bound to be made  
> But I promise you I’ll keep you safe'  
> \- I'll Keep You Safe, Sleeping At Last

Like all good love stories, this one ends with a wedding.

“It's not the end, though, is it?” Wade grumbles, pulling awkwardly at his tie as he looks down at Peter. “There's still something bigger we haven't fixed yet.”

Peter looks up at him. He looks resplendent today in a burgundy suit with a black waistcoat and tie over a white shirt. He's been grumbling all morning, though.

“What's wrong?” he asks Wade quietly. They're sat together in the front row, waiting for the wedding to start.

Wade hesitates. Then he sighs. “I'm just worried I'm going to embarrass you. I don't normally get invited to Avengers social events, and this is a big one.”

Clint Barton, sat on Wade's other side, leans out. “A huge one. Maybe the biggest.” His eyes sparkle.

Wade pales as Peter laughs. Clint winks at Peter. He is wearing a smart black suit. Like everyone else present, he looks fantastic.

“Clint, you're my favourite deaf Avenger, but if you make me feel worse I am not above cutting you,” Wade tells him.

“We were supposed to leave all of our weapons at the door, Wade,” Peter tells him, suddenly panicking.

It's Wade who laughs then. “And I did, of course.”

Peter sighs. He’s half-tempted to search his boyfriend for weapons, but he’s worried about what he’d find. Knowing Wade, there’s more than one bottle of lubricant in his pockets.

The place is filling up quickly. Some people Peter knows, or at least recognises. Some of them he doesn't recognise at all. Tony Stark is sitting by Peter, wearing sunglasses and a red suit. On Clint's other side, Bruce Banner looks nervous in a green tuxedo.

Peter was worried he was going to look shabby in his old suit, but Wade surprised him this morning with the bright blue three-piece he's currently wearing. He feels that the red tie is possibly a step too far, but Wade keeps looking at him like he's something delicious, so he's feeling good about it.

“You won't embarrass me, Wade,” he says, quietly. “I love you and you look wonderful.”

Tony makes a choking noise. “Peter, for God's sake, as your father figure I do  _ not  _ need to hear that.”

Peter turns to him in mock-surprise. “You're my father figure, Mr Stark?”

Behind them, Thor, who is already quite inebriated, bursts out laughing, the loud, booming sounds echoing around the room.

Music starts up. It's slow, melodious and romantic.

“I think that's our cue,” Tony says.

The ceremony is being performed by an old man with a severe mustache. It's not a religious ceremony, as that didn't feel appropriate to Steve or Bucky, so he's wearing a simple suit. “Please be upstanding for our grooms,” he says.

Peter cranes his neck as everyone rises to see Steve enters first. He's wearing a dark blue suit. He has shaved for the occasion, looking younger and more vulnerable. He's noticeably shaking as Sam leads him down the aisle, arm-in-arm. He catches Peter's eye as he gets close to the front and gives him a nervous smile. Peter gives him a broad grin.

Bucky enters next. Natasha and T’Challa are with him, one at each side, both dressed in silver and looking amazing. Bucky is, of course, in black, but his hair has been clipped short and he is smiling broadly. Peter hasn't seen him look so happy.

When Bucky reaches Steve, they look at each other with wide eyes. Steve gestures to Bucky's shorter hair with a teary smile and Bucky rubs Steve's smooth jawline with an awe-stricken expression.

Peter bursts into tears. Wade squeezes his fingers.

* * *

When the ceremony is finished, Captain and Sergeant Barnes-Rogers lead the gathered congregation across the road to the small Brooklyn bar they've hired for the party.

“Do you think you'll ever get married, Mr Stark?” Peter asks Tony as they head out.

Tony looks horrified. Behind his sunglasses, Peter is fairly sure that he's been crying through the ceremony. “Don't be absurd, Peter.”

Wade, who is holding Peter's hand, makes a strange sound. “What about you, Webs?” he asks.

Peter looks up at him. A strange nervousness twists his stomach. “I guess. I'd like to have a family one day.”

Wade gives him an impossibly gentle smile.

“Family is overrated!” Thor booms ahead of them, his broad frame swaggering in a drunken way. “We should all get married to alcohol and live happily ever after!”

“I’m with Thor,” Bruce says. “Get me to a beer!”

“Do you think your green alter-ego is more likely to make an appearance at this wedding if you have some beer?” Wade asks him.

Bruce gives him a withering look.

Inside the bar, fairy lights have been strung up, casting a cheerful golden glow over the room. It's nothing fancy at all. The place is wood-panelled and smells pleasantly of beer. Peter looks up at Wade and smiles. Wade squeezes his fingers, his face splitting into a wide grin.

Steve leaps up onto the bar. He’s beaming, joy radiating from his every pore. “First beers are on me and my husband!” he shouts.

A cheer rises. Scott Lang, who has ended up entering the bar next to Wade, pretends to burst into emotional tears.

Peter accepts a beer from the barman and takes a sip. It’s cool and pleasant. He leans against the bar. There’s lots for him to worry about: Harry Osborn is either a huge problem or he isn’t. He might be dangerous for MJ. He might be after Peter’s blood- and if he isn’t, someone else is. But standing here, in a room of the most powerful people on the planet, where everyone is smiling, he feels calm.

He will worry about Harry later.

Wade has slipped away to talk to a guy with serious sideburns. Peter turns to Tony, who is deep in conversation with Bruce.

“We’re thinking about the ideal wedding,” Bruce says, noticing Peter joining them.

“You guys think you’ll be next?” Peter says with a grin.

Tony and Bruce look at each other and laugh.

“We were more thinking about it for when you ask us to help you plan your wedding to Wade Wilson,” Tony smirks.

Peter blushes. “I’m barely old enough to drink, Mr Stark. I’m hardly ready for marriage.”

There’s a hand on his shoulder, huge and warm, and for a moment he thinks it is Wade. When he turns, however, he finds himself looking up into the ruggedly handsome face of the man with the intense sideburns Wade was speaking to a moment ago. He has very soft, kind eyes.

“Excuse me,” he says, and his voice is like melted honey. “I couldn’t help but notice how incredibly lovely you are. We’ve never been introduced before. I’m James, but my friends call me Logan.”

“I’m Peter Parker,” Peter replies. “How do you know Cap and Bucky?”

“We go way back. To the war, in fact,” Logan tells him.

“You don’t look old enough,” Peter tells him, honestly. “Mind you, neither do they.”

Logan gives him a slow, smouldering smile, the type which would melt someone who wasn’t deeply in love with someone else. “Can I buy you a drink?” he asks.

Peter hears Tony stifle a laugh. Clint Barton has arrived, wearing a broad smirk.

“I still have a drink, but thanks,” Peter says, looking down at his mostly-full beer in confusion.

“Perhaps I can get your phone number, then?” Logan asks. His hand is still heavy on Peter’s shoulder.

Peter realises that he is being  _ hit on.  _ His mouth falls open in surprise and he catches Wade’s eye over Logan’s broad shoulder. His asshole boyfriend is watching them with a gleeful grin.

“Did Wade Wilson send you over here, by any chance?” he asks Logan.

Logan’s whole demeanor changes. His brows lower and he removes his hand from Peter. “Yes, actually. Do you know him?”

“Yeah, he’s my boyfriend,” Peter replies.

“That fucker,” Logan snarls. He stamps off.

“Hey, Wolverine, come back!” Clint shouts after him. “I still love you!”

Wade comes over, looking delighted. “Was he devastated?” he asks.

“Wade, what the hell?” Peter demands.

“Logan’s always beating me at stuff,” Wade sighs. “He’s very competitive. It’s unbecoming, really. Anyway, I bet him that he couldn’t get your phone number.”

“You dick,” Peter says, but he can’t repress his grin.

Steve and Bucky stand up for the first dance. As the music swells, they hold each other tightly, swaying. Bucky has his eyes shut, his cheek pressed to Steve’s shoulder. It’s very obvious that he’s a better dancer than Steve, who is visibly crying.

Peter feels himself growing teary again. He looks over at Wade, who is watching the dancing couple with a serious expression. What is Wade thinking about?

His boyfriend leans down and whispers in his ear  _ exactly _ what he’s thinking about. “Do you think if Bucky Barnes-Rogers gets drunk I can steal his arm?”

Peter punches him lightly in the arm. “I love you, asshole,” he whispers.

Wade slips his arm around Peter. “I love you, too, Webs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it! This has been a bit of a whirlwind piece of writing and I've loved every second of it. Thank you so much to everyone has read this and thank you for every bit of support!  
> I'm going to stick up the first chapter of our sequel tomorrow.  
> Much, much, much love- I'm on Tumblr as lordcoledemort if you want to come say hello.


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